


Qualitative Studies on the Evolution of Relationships

by Legs (InsanityRule)



Series: Nygmobblegordon high school au [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: College AU, Inexperience, Injury, Multi, Offscreen character death, Victor and his whole deal was always meant to be chapter 6 in the timeline, Victor's parents are still pretty awful, for anyone confused yes I posted what was effectively chapter 6 twice, here's that niche content I'm somehow always falling into, mental health, poly au continuation, they're supportive and loving and everything canon can never really be
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 20:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14553240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsanityRule/pseuds/Legs
Summary: Ed and Jim are college bound, Oswald is a welcome freeloader in Ed's dorm, and the three slowly navigate the murky waters of their relationships with one another.





	1. He's starting to show that particular plumage

The alarm clock next to the futon begins beeping and Ed’s gangly arm swings out in a wide arc and smacks into the metal frame. The sound reverberates and he hisses through the pain until his hand finally comes down on the alarm and snoozes it for a few more minutes.

He rolls towards Oswald and smiles back softly at the groggy glare on his bedmate’s face.

“I'm going to kill your professor for thinking this is an acceptable time for a lecture.”

“I don't think he chose the time,” Ed says.

“Maybe, but he didn't _ stop _ it from happening either.” Oswald groans and begrudgingly accepts the armful of Ed that comes at him before he can burrow back under the covers. “You really should get ready.”

“You just want the bed,” Ed mumbles.

“You aren't wrong,” he says. He scoots down until he and Ed are face to face and kisses him. “Whatever happened to getting a good seat?”

“People are creatures of habit,” he explains, eyes still shut and face relaxed. “I've cemented my place by the aisle.”

“Well fine, it is just because I want the whole bed, now scoot,” he play shoves at Ed to get him to leave the futon. Ed uses his long arms and legs to wrap around Oswald with a full body hug. “Ed!”

“Five more minutes. It's not even light out.”

“That's because we're nearing winter,” Oswald sighs. He pets Ed's hair until he can convince him to lean back for another kiss. Any reluctance is clearly for show; he hums at the back of his throat and won't let Oswald lean back after a little peck. They move without any urgency, hardly getting past anything chaste, until Ed's alarm starts going off again and he groans.

“Don't you start, you chose kissing over sleep. That's your fault and not mine.”

“You started it,” Ed sighs. He bundles Oswald up one last time for a hug before rolling towards the rest of his dorm room and sitting up on the edge of the bed. “Could you do me a favor?”

Oswald rolls a bit closer and rubs a hand over Ed's back. “If it involves leaving this room then no, not until the sun is up.” Ed sighs with defeat, so Oswald sits up and leans against Ed's back. “That was a reluctant yes, Ed. What did you need?”

“I have another appointment,” he whispers. “Just, if you're not busy-”

“I'll be there.”

“Good, thank you,” he breathes with relief. “Say, Oswald-”

“Ed I know it's going to be a riddle just  _ ask _ . I don't think I'll know it though.” He throws himself back down on the bed and smiles up at Ed as he slips on his glasses. “What's my record? One?”

“Two. You got the one about robins a couple days ago.” Ed stands up and stretches out his back, throwing his arms back down with a long sigh. He tears off the top of his daily calendar and reads. “Today's is, you throw it out to use and take it in when you're done.”

Oswald blinks up at him with confusion and talks through a yawn. “No clue.”

Ed stares down at it for a few more seconds before saying, “anchor,” under his breath and smiling when he flips it over to read the answer. “Maybe you'll get it tomorrow.”

“I won't,” he says, unbothered. He reaches up with grabby hands until Ed leans back down for one last hug. “Eat breakfast. I swear your stomach has a loudspeaker in it.”

“If I have time,” he says. Oswald tuts in his ear, but he lets Ed go.

He hurries through a rushed morning routine in the dark, changing out of his baggy sleep clothes and into clean ones plus a sweatshirt advertising a trivia club on campus. Ed grabs his backpack and slips it over both shoulders, accepting a granola bar Oswald presses into his palm as he shoves his feet into his tennis shoes. “My appointment-”

“I’ll be there.” He interrupts as he tucks Ed's wallet into his sweatshirt pocket for him. “When is it?”

“Four.”

“Well then I'll be sure to get out of bed by three thirty,” he jokes.

-

Oswald gets out of bed from an afternoon nap at precisely three-thirty that afternoon. The walk to student health services from Ed's dorm room takes him fifteen minutes, plus an extra five to grab a small coffee from the coffee house on the corner of the Union, which he finishes before stepping into the lobby of Student Health Services.

Ed's waiting up on the third floor when Oswald steps inside the reception area. He's fussing with his Rubik's Cube, twisting and untwisting a row of colors without making any progress to either scramble or solve it. It's not exactly clear when no progress is made.

He sits by Ed and smiles at him when he tilts to his left and onto Oswald’s side. “You're already checked in?”

“I got here early. I was nervous.”

“I thought you said she's nice?” Ed rubs his cheek against Oswald's shoulder as he nods. “Why are you nervous?”

“I don't know.”

Oswald pats Ed's knee to reassure him. He holds out a hand, and Ed sets his Rubik's Cube on his palm, only for Oswald to hand it back again after scrambling the colors. They do this little trade off several times until the young woman at the reception desk calls out his name.

“Edward? She's ready for you.” It's that office cheer and not anything more genuine.

He goes to hand the Cube to Oswald but he pushes it back into Ed's hands. “She's a therapist. If it helps she'd want you to have it.”

Ed tries out a smile that turns out as more of a grimace. “You'll be here?”

Oswald nods. “There’s nowhere I'd rather be.”

Ed doesn't point out his little fib and Oswald doesn't point out Ed's trembling hands as he tries to solve the puzzle one last time on his way into the back office. Oswald just watches him go until the door clicks shut, and then he's instantly on his phone texting Jim.

_ I'm in dire need of some entertainment. _

He balances his tiny brick shaped phone on his knee and shifts his gaze around the room until he notices the receptionist starting at him. “I don't have an appointment.”

“That's okay,” she says. She pulls a pen from a cup on the desk and clicks it on. “Do you have a preferred time?”

“Oh, no, I'm not looking to make one either.” He pockets his phone and steps up to the edge of the desk and rests his elbows on the surface. “I'm just here for my friend.”

“That's really sweet of you,” she gushes.

“I know.” He smiles, all cheek and no genuine mirth, and he focuses more on his phone vibrating in his pocket than her attempts to flatter him.

_ Can't. Track practice. Send good vibes I gotta cut a full two seconds off my time. _

Oswald sends back,  _ if you don't speed it up right now I'll steal Zsasz’s car and drive all the way there and shriek at you from the stands. _ And he pockets his phone again. “So is this a student job?”

She nods once. She's not all that impressed by his dismissal of her but he doesn't appear phased. “It was on the job board.”

“Uh huh, the what now?”

She raises one eyebrow. “The student job board? Didn't your advisor tell you about it?”

“It's been a busy semester,” he laughs. He turns around and spots a row of computers on a single long desk against the south wall. “These are public use?”

“Just use your login,” she says.

Oswald approaches the corner monitor and waves the mouse around until the student login window pops up on the screen. He glances back, but whatever little interest the receptionist had in Oswald is replaced by her own cell phone and a fresh stick of gum. Before she gains any interest back he types in Ed's email and password, hesitating over the enter key for a moment before ultimately tapping it and logging Ed into the system.

Finding the job board is rather simple once he navigates past Ed's grades and homework tabs. Food service is abundant, followed shortly by clerical work. There are a few odds jobs for labs or psych volunteering jobs, all with the word student after the title in bold black letters. After scrolling through the page a bit he logs Ed out and returns to sitting in the comfortable chair until Ed emerges from his appointment.

-

“Do you think I'm anxious?” Ed asks. His voice echoes and bounces around the tile separating his shower stall from Oswald's.

“Anxious?” Oswald clarifies. He pulls back a corner of the curtain and sticks his head out into the muggy air beyond his stall curtain. “Do you mean about school?”

“In general,” Ed says. “The therapist thinks so. She thinks I could benefit from some sort of medication. I said I couldn't afford it.”

“I guess that's true,” Oswald says as he slips back behind his curtain. “You're almost eighteen.”

“I know.”

“Do you want medication now?” He doesn't get any sort of response. Oswald lets Ed think and focuses on washing his hair.

Eventually Ed responds while Oswald is attempting to balance on one leg to wash his foot. “No, but I can't get my parents to sign off even if I did.”

“Okay,” he says. There's a bit of a shuffling sound and water displacing oddly. Oswald blinks. “Did you just sit down?”

“Yes.”

“Ed the floor is  _ filthy _ . I don't care how often they have the cleaning crew come in here.”

“I know, I'm not on the floor.” He starts humming softly, but not lyrically. More just a few tones and not any particular song, though someone further down the bathroom is listening to music. “I stopped by that little store across the street after class and found a stool.”

“A stool,” Oswald repeats.

“It folds up,” Ed says proudly. “It was only two dollars, and I figure I can justify considering it's an education related necessity.”

“I want to see,” Oswald says eagerly. He pops his head out of his curtain and nearly bumps his head into Ed when he does the same.

Ed glances over his shoulder to the bathroom beyond and loosens his hold on the curtain a bit. It exposed just a bit more of his body if Oswald peeks close enough, but he can't get past Ed's bright red blush. “If you're going to join me do it while no one's watching.”

“I meant hand it over,” he whispers. “I wasn't looking for an excuse to join you.”

“I assumed, but, um, maybe this is an offer?” He finishes with little to no confidence and an even brighter blush. “Only if you want,” he adds.

Oswald shoos him back from the curtain, which Ed takes as a rejection and pouts as he retreats from the edge. But then Oswald slips out of his curtain and into Ed's before anyone can turn down the corner to their stalls, and Ed lets out a little breathy gasp of surprise.

-

The floor RA is standing in the hall loitering outside Ed's dorm room, and he gestures to Ed to come closer. Oswald takes a bit of initiative to silently ask for Ed's keys so he can let them hash whatever petty hall spat is going on without him listening.

He sets his and Ed's bathroom supplies down by the door and hangs their towels up on their hooks. And Ed still isn't back after a minute, so Oswald pulls out Ed's laptop and powers it on.

While he waits for the start up and Ed he makes some hot chocolate in their puny microwave, and Ed steps inside just as he starts to stir in the packets.

Oswald turns with the mugs in hand, looking snarky and ready to rail on the person who dared to complain about Ed, but he stops short when Ed sniffles and wipes his wet cheeks.

“What's wrong?” he asks, dropping the mugs off on the rickety bedside table and standing on tiptoe to drag him into a hug. “Are you in trouble?” He either shakes his head or rubs his face against Oswald’s shoulder. “Come on, come here,” he guides Ed over to the futon and deposits the laptop on his legs. “We'll talk with Jim about it, okay? Whatever it is.”

He hasn't even opened their video chat client when Ed whispers, “he knows you're not a student.”

“Oh.”

“He's, he didn't tell yet,” Ed sniffles, “but you can't stay.”

“Okay,” Oswald sighs. “Alright, let's talk to Jim okay? He might help you feel better. And I need to harass him about his sprint times.”

Oswald bends his body at an odd angle to allow Ed to curl up against his side while he manipulates the laptop’s touch pad until the little portrait with Jim’s goofy expression is blinking. Shortly after sending the request Jim picks up, hair as wet as Ed and Oswald’s and an easy smile, at least until he sees Ed’s tears.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been discovered,” Oswald says plainly with a little shrug. Ed reacts to the verbal confirmation with another sniffle. “Don't worry too much,” he tells them both. “I have a few ideas.”

“Enrollment?” Jim guesses.

“God no,” Oswald scoffs. “Don't  _ worry _ ,” he says this mostly to Ed, who's falling into another bout of actual crying. Oswald rubs Ed's arm and sneaks a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Honestly I'm not  _ clueless _ . It's probably about time I got a job anyway.”

“You could try being a waiter,” Jim offers. He's moved very close to his computer screen, like he's resting his laptop on his chest. It's the closest they can get to a hug with a two hour distance separating them.  


“I do love to schmooze,” Oswald says. “More importantly I have some questions for  _ you _ , James. It's important because if I get arrested for stealing Zsasz's car to come harass you then I don't need to apply anywhere.”

He's mostly kidding, and it gets him a few laughs from Jim. "I did it, my times are fine. Please don't get arrested."  


-

Ed's alarm switched over from 2:59 to 3:00 but he sleeps on undisturbed. Oswald is the only one still awake, sitting curled up on a chair by Ed's window and quietly tapping at the keys of Ed's laptop. He's flitting between tabs of cheap apartment options in the rougher end of Gotham and several job tabs. The last two tabs are a detailed description of interview etiquette and how to write a resume.

The time doesn't deter him, and Ed's clock continues to count up until it's beeping to rouse Ed for his classes. He smacks the alarm and reaches for something on the bed. And then he reaches a bit more frantic, and then he pops up out of bed in a state and Oswald finally notices he's making a fuss about waking up alone.

“I'm over here,” he says. He sets the computer aside and makes Ed sit back down on the edge of the bed before he can get hysterical. Ed wraps his arms around Oswald's middle and rubs his face against his shirt. “Sorry.”

“Why weren't you in bed?” Ed looks up and rests his chin on Oswald’s stomach, blinking up at him with a tired pout.

“Just trying to make sure I don't get you kicked out of school for being a freeloader,” he says lightly. “I'm going to be gone during most of the day catapulting myself into full adulthood.”

“You could still enroll,” Ed says. “I suppose it would have to be for next semester.”

He pets Ed's hair gently. “Absolutely not. I went to school for twelve years of my young life. That should be enough.”

Ed shrugs, which turns into more of a squeeze with his arms still around Oswald. “What do you want to do?”

“I don't know, have money? I don't need a degree to do that.” He bends down and ends up on Ed's lap in an attempt to get him to look up from the floor. When Ed latches on to him again it's clear this was his actual goal whether Oswald wanted to sit or not, not that he seems to mind. “I'll still sleep here.”

“For one week,” Ed says.

“I remember.”

“I just don't think it's  _ fair _ -”

Oswald kisses him to stop his whining. “As much as I want to agree with you it's more than fair. Don't worry so much about me, I'll be  _ fine _ . If I wanted someone fussing about my life I'd call my mother and tell her what's happening.”

-

Oswald saunters into Ed's hall towards his RA’s dorm room with several day's worth of bags under his eyes and an expression made of equal parts snotty and smug. He knocks three times and stands back to allow the door to swing out, and when his RA opens the door Oswald’s smile widens.

“Good afternoon,” he titters. “You are Ed's RA if I'm not mistaken.”

“Yeah,” he hazards, “and you're that guy that's been living in his dorm for three months.”

“Guilty,” he shrugs. “But you don't have to worry about that anymore.” He thrusts a stapled packet of papers at his face and holds his arms behind his back after he takes them. “I actually live in this apartment.”

“In the Narrows?”

“It's not the best, but it's the only place in my price range. Temp work doesn't exactly break the bank.” Oswald shrugs again and takes back the renter's agreement. “But,” he adds, “I would still like to survive the night to get to my job.”

“Uh huh.” 

“I'm saying you'll still be seeing a lot of me,” he clarifies. “But I can't imagine there's anything anyone can do to stop me from visiting my friend.”

“Not really, no,” he shakes his head, disbelieving but also not about to argue. “Seems like a lot of effort to stay in an old dorm room.”

“I assure you it's never been about the room, but now I do need to get going,” Oswald says. “I'll keep this handy in case anyone else wants to butt in on our personal lives.”

Eds RA rolls his eyes a little, but he's smirking. “Whatever, really. As long as I can't get chewed out over this.”

“If anyone makes a fuss I’m fairly certain I'll be doing the chewing.” The comment doesn't land as strongly as Oswald hoped, more a bland confusion than any sort of reverence or awe, but he turns away anyway to have the last word. After two knocks and a half minute of waiting a bright, smiling Ed opens up his door and lets Oswald inside.


	2. The first step to solving a problem it seeing it's there

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor sees a lot of himself in the scared young man he's been asked to help encourage him to pursue a college career, Jonathan Crane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a rarepair friendship I didn't know I would fall in love with but here we are.

The only sounds in Victor's dorm room is the white noise from his oscillating fan as it cools the room and his faint snores from having his face pressed into his pillow. He's sprawled out on top of his bed, still dressed in an undershirt and his jeans. His phone is blinking from the texts he's gotten since falling asleep, one from Nora and two from his mother. A third from his mother comes in, but the faint vibrate doesn't wake him.

But a phone call does. His head pops up with shock and he scrambles for his phone, accepting the call before both of his eyes are open. “H’lo?”

“Victor, if this is an act of rebellion I can assure you it’s gone on long enough,” his mother quips.

“Fu-sorry,” he starts to fall out of bed and uses the momentum to turn it into a roll until he lands on his unsteady feet. “Sorry, I just fell asleep-”

“Hurry down here, now.”

She hangs up, and he blinks down at his phone for a few seconds until it registers. Victor scrolls back up through his missed texts, saving Nora’s for later and focusing on the three from his mother.

_ We’re downstairs waiting Victor when you deem us worthy of your time. _

He rolls his eyes and steps into his bathroom to swish some mouthwash and scroll up to the next text.

_ The restaurant requires jackets. Dress appropriately. _

And the first.

_ We’ve made a reservation at the new restaurant in Uptown for Sunday evening. _

He pockets his phone and pulls a blue long sleeved button down from his closet. Victor pulls it on quickly and grabs a pre-tied tie from the hook on the outside of his closet door and tosses it over his head.

As he undoes his pants to tuck in his shirt he looks up at himself in the half mirror on the other closet door and drops his hands to his side. The shirt fits well, and the tie is boring but acceptable, something he would be fine wearing to church or a class photo.

Victor tosses the tie off and undoes enough buttons to pull his shirt off over his head along with his undershirt, which he leaves in a crumpled pile just outside the closet. He pulls a loose, high thread count grey tee shirt and pulls it on, then he pulls a thin casual black suit jacket over his tee shirt.

It’s acceptable on a technicality. His parents won’t like it, but he nods at himself in the mirror.

He shoves his feet into a pair of slip on loafers and his keys and wallet into his pockets. He grabs his dorm room door and pulls it open, then backtracks long enough to grab his small mesh bag with a pair of wireless headphones and shove them in his pocket with his phone before sprinting down the hall to the stairs.

-

“I trust your classes are going well,” his mother says over the top of her menu. Victor nods once and returns to scanning the menu, focusing his gaze at the more expensive options towards the bottom under the seafood column. “I can see you’re working on a new aloof image for yourself but we expect verbal answers from you.”

Victor looks up and sets his menu on the table. “Okay, sorry.”

“I know you think you’re clever with this little loophole you’ve found for the dresscode,” his father says, gesturing to his jeans and tee shirt underneath the suit jacket, “but I’d think long and hard before you try to pull another stunt like this in public.”

“Sorry,” he says again, and he grabs his menu again to hide his flush behind descriptions for the amuse bouche. Shortly after the waiter comes back around to the table, and when he gets to Victor he mumbles out a small request for “just water,” and his mother and father get the house red and whiskey neat.

Dinner in public is similar to dinner at the Fries’ home, but this time the passive aggression has an audience. Victor keeps his focus on his menu, his water glass, and then his plate of seafood ravioli with a light red sauce. His mother keeps the conversation about his schoolwork.

“I do hope you’re managing your time wisely,” she says part way through her second glass of wine and a third of her fish filet. “Procrastination is one of the easiest ways to drop a perfect grade average.”

“I finished my school work this morning,” he says. He deliberately leaves out the nap that made him late getting down to the car. “We had midterms this week so there wasn’t as much as usual.”

“Any red flags in those results you’re hiding from us?” his father asks. He leans forward over his steak, nearly getting his tie in the bloody sauce covering part of the plate. “We’re not going to sit around wasting money if you’re not taking your classes seriously.”

“It’s,” Victor gulps around a drink of his water and grimaces, “I don’t know yet. We just took them.”

“And what about involvement outside your classes?” his mother asks. “Student government, or maybe some early intern programs. You need to start thinking about applications for after your undergraduate program.”

Victor blinks at her a few times. “It’s my first semester?”

“Our son isn’t throwing away his future by putting things off,” his father asserts. “The more you can fit on your resume the better, and you need to start networking. Not everything is about how you look on paper.”

“You need to start meeting with your professors early and often.” She takes a pointed sip of her wine. “By the time your father graduated he had several personal connections to some of the top fellowships and programs available.” 

“I know,” Victor whispers. He swallows down any more comments and a hurried bite of his food.

“And have some self respect,” his father jabs. “I can’t imagine who you’re dressing to impress with this.”

“If you wanted me to go back up and change why didn’t you say it at the dorms?” he snaps back. The dark, angry vein in his father’s neck starts bulging out so far Victor can see it twitch with each heartbeat. He gulps.

His father gets up so abruptly he jostles the table, causing silverware to clatter against plates as he gets up and strides from the room. A few of the nearby tables are avoiding eye contact, and the faint blush Victor’s been fighting against all night is back with full force.

His mother gets up without causing another table earthquake, but she does what his father wouldn’t have dared and grabs his shoulder, hard. “We’re going to discuss this for a moment. Stay at the table.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He watches her stride after his father, heels clicking loudly against the tiled floor and fading until she’s out of sight.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and then he starts eating again, trying to appear casual through his visible shame. The nearby tables go from pointedly not watching to actually ignoring him, and the tense set in his shoulders relaxes.

Partway through another portion of his food he takes two fingers and holds them up against his father’s glass of whiskey. Then, after a moment to make sure the room has truly returned to politely ignoring his table, he grabs the glass and drains it in one pull, holding his breath and grimacing from the burn of the strong liquor.

The alcohol in his system guarantees his flushed appearance will last through the rest of the meal, but Victor projects a newfound calm with it in his system. As the waiter makes his rounds he gestures to the glass and asks Victor, “would your father like a refill?”

Victor nods through another bite of his food. He watches intently as the waiter returns to the bar counter across the room and waits for the refill, and he feigns disinterest when it’s set down near his father’s food. After another quick measurement with his fingers he takes the glass again and drinks in small sips until it’s back to the same two finger height from before.

His parents return to the table, and his father's vein is no longer threatening to pop out of his neck. He nods to them with acknowledgement and takes a drink of his water.

“We're disappointed in you,” his mother says. His father's expression suggests he had a few harsher concepts in mind.

“Okay,” he says too loud. He coughs into his hand and then into his napkin when his mother glares. “Sorry.”

“We're disappointed because we know we taught you better,” she continues, “and watching you throw that away hurts us, Victor.”

“Okay.” They both stare at him for a bit, less concerned and more suspicious, but he adds a soft, “sorry,” after an awkward pause.

“We were going to propose this as a choice,” his mother starts, “but your father and I discussed it and we’ve decided you’re not getting an option to overlook this opportunity.”

He looks to his stone faced father and watches him ignore the exchange going on in front of him, but the apparent calm he’s projecting is betrayed by another angry throb of the vein in his neck. Victor doesn’t push the issue and instead drinks more of his water. It doesn’t do anything to cool the blush. “What is it?”

-

Victor unlocks his dorm room and leaves a trail of clothing on the floor as he walks towards his bathroom. He looks at his face in the mirror, tilting his own face up a bit to look at a red mark on his lower jaw before turning away so he can lean on the counter. He undoes his jeans pulls his phone out of his pocket before letting them drop to the floor.

Nora’s message flashes at him again, and he unlocks his phone to read it and download the attached photo.

_ Guess what I get to wear until my allergist gets results. _ The attached photo is of Nora in a mirror, slightly blurry and tired, with a blue cloth mask covering her nose and mouth. Despite that, it’s still clear she’s smiling for the photo.

_ Cute _ , he sends back.

She answers back before he can even finish letting his boxers drop to the floor.  _ It is not! _

_ Maybe. You could make it cute though. _ He turns on the water for his shower and holds his hand under it while keeping his phone in the other.  _ Flowers or shit _ , he adds.

_ I don’t think I want to add it to my wardrobe.  _ And shortly after that another arrives.  _ You okay? _

He snorts through his nose. Victor pulls his hand out of the stream and adjusts it to be just a bit colder before grabbing a plastic bag from the basket on the back of his toilet and putting his phone inside. He’s inside the shower and wets his hair before replying.

_ Mostly. _ He soaps up his hair and stands under the water with his eyes closed until his phone starts vibrating on the shelf. He grabs it and answers the call without bothering to leave the stream. “Hello.”

“Hi. Why does it sound like you’re in the shower?”

“It could just be raining,” he says, “but you’re right. I’m almost done.”

“You’re so weird sometimes,” she says fondly. “So why are you mostly good?”

Victor moves out of the water enough to make his voice heard. “My parents signed me up for this thing I'm pretty sure the college hasn't sanctioned.”

“Oh no, what is it?”

“Some highschool kid is going to follow me around all day. They're hoping my boundless enthusiasm for this place will inspire him or something.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s going to suck.”

“They poor kid!” she laughs.

“What about poor me?” He pouts. She makes some sympathetic cooing sounds but the sincerity is questionable since she’s still laughing. “You make it sound like I'll scar him for life.”

“You just might. How would you like to follow some college student around all day?”

“Hey, don’t forget it’s some college student he doesn’t  _ know _ . Hold on a second,” he says. Victor dives back under the stream long enough to rinse his body of lingering soap and turns off the water. He puts his phone on speaker and sets it on the lid of the toilet so he can start drying off. “I guess he’s some teacher’s kid. Science something or other, I wasn’t paying attention.” He wraps his towel around his waist and unbags his phone. “So you still don't know what's making your asthma freak out?”

“No, but we're narrowing it down to certain locations. I’m okay when I'm in my dorm,” she says. “My doctor isn't too worried. She said the change of scenery lines up with the increased attacks.”

“Okay,” he says. He doesn't sound happy, but he's somewhat mollified. He trades his towel for a pair of shorts and flicks off his light before dropping onto the top of his covers. “Should probably get some sleep.”

“You too,” she says.

They don't.

-

Three days later there's a series of timid knocks on his door, so soft he wouldn't have heard them if he wasn't already reaching for the knob. Victor glances down at his phone one last time and frowns at the lack of messages, and then he opens the door to find a young man cowering inside a bulky sweatshirt with the hood up.

“Uh, hi?” Victor glances around him into the hall, where several of his floormates are walking without paying attention to his visitor. “So, who are you exactly?”

“Jonathan Crane?” He says everything with a hint of uncertainty. “Um, you’re Victor Fries right? I'm supposed to shadow you?”

“Oh,” Victor sighs. He glares down at his cellphone. “Wish I'd gotten a message.”

“Should,” he pauses, repeats himself, “should I go?”

“Nah,” he waves him off. “You're just lucky I didn't leave early.” He gestures for Jonathan to step back and he leaves his dorm. “I'm getting breakfast.”

He starts moving, and stops when his shadow isn't actually shadowing him. Victor turns around and jerks his head towards the door. “C’mon. Part of college is dealing with dining halls.”

Jonathan jog-walks to catch up, hands still shoved in his middle pocket, and falls into step with Victor. “How much is it?”

“Nothing, I'll cover you.” He smacks the down button for the elevator and leans against the wall. “My parents put way too many meals on my dining card. You're doing me a favor.”

Jonathan frets with the inner part of his pocket. “Is that allowed?”

Victor shrugs. “It’s a grey area. The staff is all students who don't give a crap.”

Victor moves to put in his headphones and aborts the motion several times before the elevator reaches his floor, and the elevator ride down is awkward and tense. He watches Jonathan back himself into the corner and hole up there with his back to the wall until the ride stops, and then he's rushing past Victor into the hall the second the doors slide open. After getting over the initial surprise Victor steps out of the elevator and finds him with his eyes closed and breathing hard through his nose.

He doesn't say a word, just watches Jonathan with vague interest until he opens his eyes, and then he's startling all over again when he sees Victor watching him.

“So, the dining hall is this way,” Victor starts explaining. He waves Jonathan forward, clearly moving past whatever just happened in favor of being a helpful, if a bit unenthused, tour guide. “It sucks sometimes but it's food.”

“It,” a huff, “it can't be worse than high school food.”

“You're not wrong.”

Early morning service is packed with zombie-eyed students clutching at thermoses and mumbling to one another between drinks of caffeinated liquids of varying types. When they reach the front of the line Victor hands over his card and holds up two fingers, indicating himself and Jonathan, and the too tired worker gives it two swipes without raising any concerns.

Inside is a madhouse. Caffeine is kicking in and people are bustling around to get their preferred meal before they have to get to class. Jonathan freezes just inside the door, and Victor glances between his wide-eyed panic and the room.

“Get whatever food you want,” he says, “and then go up those stairs.” He points to a recessed staircase at the back wall. “Leads to a mezzanine level. It's usually pretty quiet.”

He doesn't stick with Jonathan when he bolts off in a random direction, which happens to be towards a cereal bar. Victor loads up a plate with yogurt and fruit and granola, plus a giant helping of hard-boiled eggs and some floppy french toast from a giant warming tray, sans syrup. He fills a glass with some from concentrate orange juice and heads up to the mezzanine, where he finds Jonathan in a back corner away from the few tables that are occupied and huddling over his cereal and milk.

“It's all you can eat,” Victor says, “but they bitch if you take a lot and don't eat it.”

“I don't usually eat breakfast,” Jonathan says. Still, he takes a few spoonfuls of his cereal.

“I like routine.” Victor mows through a third of his plate without trying to force any conversation.

His phone vibrates with a text, and he skims the greeting from Nora.  _ I'm downstairs in the hall. Are you eating? _

_ Got s guest _ , he mistypes with one hand while eating more food with the other.  _ A*. We're upstairs. _

Shortly after Nora appears with a plate modestly filled with some french toast and eggs. She's still wearing the cloth mask, but she pulls it down around her neck when she sits down beside Victor. Jonathan looks at her for a second and looks away when she notices.

“I'm Nora,” she says, holding out a hand. He doesn't take it, but she doesn't seem put off by the refusal.

“My girlfriend,” Victor clarifies. “This is Jonathan,” he tells her. “He's the lucky kid that won a day of my company.”

“You have my sympathy,” she tells Jonathan, and Victor nudges her gently, which only makes her smile widen. “He’s a sweetheart underneath the ice.”

“I take back that nudge just give him your sympathy.” She drops her hand onto his thigh and he places his hand over hers. She squeezes his hand and he squeezes back.

“Are you planning to go to school here?” she asks.

“I um,” Jonathan shrinks into his sweatshirt a bit deeper, “I don’t know.”

“It’s why he’s here,” Victor says around a mouthful of yogurt. “Right? I’m supposed to wow you with uh,” Victor laughs. “Kid it’s cool if you think I’m full of shit I didn’t exactly sign up for this either.”

Jonathan shrugs and emerges out of his sweatshirt a bit. “It’s okay. Beats high school.”

“You’re not wrong,” Victor agrees.

-

“So you uh, you didn’t bring any supplies to breakfast,” Jonathan comments as they exit the dining hall.

“See you after class,” he calls to Nora. They exchange a wave, and then he turns back to Jonathan. “Nope. C’mon.”

Jonathan holes up in the same corner of the elevator on the way back to the third floor, and Victor takes his same passive stance by the buttons. Again, Jonathan bolts out once the doors open, and Victor saunters out after him, patting his shoulder once to get him moving.

Victor unlocks his dorm and holds the door for Jonathan. “You can leave your shoes on if you want. Bathroom’s to the right if you need it.”

“You have your own bathroom?” Jonathan asks as he slips past him. He stops three steps inside and turns back around. “You don’t have a roommate?”

“Nope.” Victor shakes his head. “Just me.” He crosses the room to his desk and drops into his chair, keeping his momentum going to swing one leg up onto the corner of the desktop. “I don’t really like people.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. College can kind of work with you on that though. Here, let me find something for you.”

Jonathan watches Victor with queasy curiosity, fretting with the ends of his sleeves and tearing at the already fraying cuffs. Victor digs around in his desk drawers until he finds a crumpled up class schedule, full of color coded blocks and abbreviated class numbers, and he holds it out until Jonathan crosses the room and takes it. “That’s my schedule.”

“Is it a lot of work?” Jonathan asks. He tries flattening out some of the wrinkles in the paper with his thumb nail.

“It’s a full load,” he says, “but it’s fine. See all the numbers with an X by them?” he asks, and Jonathan nods. “Those ones are online sections.”

Jonathan mouths numbers as he counts up the classes until he finishes. Five. “Wait, so you don’t go to class?”

“I don’t go to lecture halls.” He picks up his headphones and wags the mouse for his laptop until the screen lights up. “You’re going to be bored as hell if you watch me watch recordings. I don’t have speakers.”

Jonathan is more curious than irritated, and he returns his attention to Victor’s class schedule. “Why’d you sign up for this shadow thing?”

“First, I didn’t. My parents made me.” He hooks his headphones around his neck. “And second, they don’t know I chose the online sections. If they had their way I’d still be living at home.” As he moves to put his headphones on he gestures at his couch and TV with his elbow. “Watch whatever you want. My class is about to start streaming.”

“You have to listen live?”

“No,” he says, “but I really do like routines.”

-

Jonathan’s eyes start drooping the moment he’s on the couch with some nature documentary playing at a low volume. Partway through Victor’s second lecture Jonathan falls asleep, and he continues sleeping through his third with ocean sounds from the documentary acting as a white noise. He’s sound asleep, and the only reason he startles awake is because Victor knocks over his mallet bag as he packs his backpack and they clatter loudly against the hardwood floor. Jonathan’s eyes dart left and right as he nears hyperventilation, but one polite cough from Victor helps him focus his breathing.

“You’re pretty jumpy,” Victor says blandly. Jonathan’s stricken expression makes it pretty clear that he would rather sink into the couch cushions than talk about it. “I have a lab. You don’t really have to go with me if you don’t want to.”

But Jonathan switches off the TV and jumps up from the couch without comment. Victor finishes getting his bag ready and slings it over his shoulders. There’s a moment where he hesitates by his desk, looking over at the jittery teenager pressed up against the wall by the door, and then he shakes his head and crosses the room.

Jonathan is the one to start for the elevators, but Victor grabs his sleeve before he can press the button. “It’s only two flights of stairs if that’s better.” Jonathan stares at him in awe, and then he nods. “They’re at the end of the hall.”

They thunder down the steps with Victor leading and Jonathan close behind. He points out different notable buildings, like the student Union building and the chemistry building, and Jonathan doesn't ask any questions but he's very attentive and interested even though Victor is lackluster at best. They keep to some of the out of the way sidewalks crisscrossing through the campus and eventually enter a building next to the library. Victor opens the door to a small theatre style lecture hall with five tiers of seats and a handful of students already inside.

“I thought you said it was a lab,” Jonathan says as Victor claims two seats in the top tier.

“They call it a lab,” Victor says, “and I call it an annoyance, but there aren't any online sections for speech.” Victor drops his bag into the chair adjacent to his and settles back on the back legs of his chair. 

“Do you have to take it?”

“Yeah,” he says, “but you can take it pass/fail so it doesn’t fuck your GPA.”

Victor shoots his hand up when Ed walks through the classroom door, and then he lowers it with confusion when Oswald slips in behind him. The duo climbs the stairs to the back row and Victor moves his backpack out of Ed’s way.

“Hey Ed,” Victor greets him, and Ed nods as he sits down. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Cobblepot.”

“I'm auditing,” Oswald snaps back. He takes the seat to Ed's immediate left and leans over to continue to scowl at Victor. “And you can mind your own business.”

Victor shrugs and leans over to stage whisper to Jonathan. “He's not in this class.”

“He's with me,” Ed says. “I have to give my speech today.”

Jonathan taps Victor's elbow and Victor tips his head to the side to indicate he's listening. “Who are they?”

“Ed,” he points subtly, “is my friend, and Oswald is,” he pauses, “fine in small doses.”

“What a compliment,” Oswald gushes sarcastically. “You aren't exactly a charmer yourself, Fries.”

“I'm not too busted up about it.”

The four of them settle into pre-class silence, with Victor continuing to defy gravity by balancing his chair on two legs and Jonathan shrinking into his sweatshirt as the classroom fills to the brim. Ed and Oswald whisper with each other, near silent, and what they're saying to one another is covered up by the lingering chatter from their classmates.

Ed's called to the front first thing and Victor lets his chair drop onto four legs so he can lean over Ed's chair to talk to Oswald. “Out of the four of us you're probably the one most equipped to handle giving speeches. How's that for a compliment.”

Oswald glances past Victor to the unnamed fourth man in their group, Jonathan, but after looking back from the jittery teenager to Victor all he gets is a single head shake, and Oswald drops any potential line of inquiry. “Thank you. I do like to think I have a knack for public speaking,” Oswald says cheeky, and then he looks down the classroom at Ed and now nervous slump. “He’s nervous about his grades.”

“I told him to take it pass/fail.”

“He is, or, he is now. He got permission to change it,” Oswald says. “But unlike you he aims to actually gain something from this experience. The TA’s main criticism is his lack of eye contact with the audience, hence my presence in said audience.”

“So he'll stare at you the whole time and it'll count.”

“That's the idea.” Oswald straightens his back and smiles wide, waving just a couple fingers at Ed, who smiles back briefly and looks away only because the TA asks him a question. “Now stop talking to me so I can focus.”

-

Jonathan doesn't say a word during dinner, and he's still silent as Victor leads the way back to his dorm. It isn't until Victor's door is shut behind then they he end it with a question.

“So uh, is that normal?”

“Going to have to be more specific unless you mean the fight in the dining hall. That one is pretty normal.”

“No um, never mind.” He shoves his hands into his pocket. “Do you have more classes?”

“I have homework,” he says. “But you don't have to watch. People talk a lot of shit but it's still just work you do at home.”

“They talk a lot about clubs and other stuff like that.”

“That's not something I'm into,” he says. He sits down at his desk and hooks his headphones around his neck. “So did I wow you with my enriched college life?”

“You just stay in here, and you do your work, and sometimes you talk to people?”

“Is that a no?”

“I think I could do it like this,” Jonathan says. “I uh, Jesus I think I'd die if I had to go to club meetings.”

“So I can tell my parents I changed your life by being a giant recluse.” His mouth quirks up for a brief second before settling back to neutral. “I'll say it better than that.”

Jonathan hovers in the middle of Victor's dorm room, rocking himself by switching from the balls of his feet to his heels. Victor just waits. It's clear Jonathan has more on his mind.

“I should go,” he says. “I took the bus to get here. I don't know how late it runs.”

“Cool,” Victor says. “If it's not running Oswald has a car, but I already talked to him once today so I'd prefer it if I didn't have to do it again.” He smiles again, adding, “I'm joking. Sort of.”

“He seems,” Jonathan shrugs, “abrasive?”

“That's a good word for it, yeah.”

“Okay,” he says. “Um, thanks.”

“No problem.” Victor moves to put his headphones on when Jonathan turns to the door, and then he stops and slides out of his seat. “So uh, you can come back if you want.” Jonathan turns slowly and looks up at him; his expression is a mix of thoughtful and anxious, but that's more his resting face than true neutral. “If you need to get away from school or your parents or whatever.”

“It's,” he sighs, “it's just me and my dad. He's um, he's real big on facing your fears head on.”

“Uh huh.”

“We would have taken the elevator,” he whispers.

“Right, okay.” Victor pulls his phone from his pocket and hands it to Jonathan. “Add your number. My door's usually shut but there's a good chance I'm in here.”


	3. The end of an era and the beginning of the next epoc

Jim drops his gym bag on the floor by his loft ladder and nods to his roommate, who waves two fingers and returns his attention to his computer. He grabs his laptop bag and a granola bar from the top right drawer of his cluttered desk.

“Video chat?” his roommate asks without looking up.

“Yep,” Jim says. “And some homework. I’m going to camp out in the lounge. Should I bring my key?”

“I have a fuckton of pages to still write for this paper. If I’m lucky, I’ll take a nap around six.” He grabs an energy drink off his desk and tips his head back far enough to drain it of its contents. “Have fun, Gordon.”

“Good luck.” Jim unlocks their door on his way out into the hall and speed walks to the nearest lounge, which is empty and the lights are off. He switches them on and sits in a large plush armchair near the window. While he waits for his laptop to power on, he wolfs down the granola bar, and not even a second after he loads his video chat client, Oswald’s sending him a call.

He accepts the call and smiles down at his screen. “Hi guys.”

“Jim, it’s a travesty,” Oswald whines. He drops his head onto Ed’s shoulder and groans. “I had to work  _ all day _ .”

“I think that’s how jobs work,” Jim says, and Oswald sighs and drapes himself across Ed, jostling the computer and making Jim chuckle when Ed panics about his laptop’s fate. “Where are you working this week?”

“The receptionist at the law firm across from the college is on maternity leave for five weeks.”

“Nice,” Jim says. “So you have regular work for five weeks?”

“It’s so  _ boring _ , Jim,” he sighs.

“I thought you got along with your temporary coworkers?” Ed asks.

“Ed, I said they loved to  _ gossip _ with me. I don’t know these people!” he exclaims. “I don’t care if Brenda steals paper towels!”

Jim snorts. “I thought you loved gossip.”

“I love gossiping with  _ Barbara Keane _ . Now  _ she  _ knows some interesting things.” Oswald sighs wistfully and tangles his hand in Ed’s shirt. Jim blinks, but doesn’t mention it. “Are you still coming to the meet this Saturday?”

“I qualified,” Jim says with a shrug. He smiles at the enthusiastic but restrained cheers he gets from Ed and Oswald. “I only had to get fourth to qualify.”

“Jim, why would we know that?” Oswald asks. “Let us be impressed with you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever participated in a sport,” Ed muses. “Does Physical Education count?”

“Sort of,” Jim says.

“Not when you switched to yoga,” Oswald counters. Ed and Jim both shrug. “Anyway, are they making you stay with the team?”

“You offering up Ed’s dorm for me?”

“We hardly ever get to see you in person,” Oswald reminds him.

“Ed?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Ed slips his hand over Oswald’s and looks at something off screen, and when he looks back he’s sheepish. “I only have one bed.”

Jim’s eyes widen, but again, he doesn’t mention the admission, or the hand holding. “We’ve shared a bed before.”

“We’d  _ love  _ to have you,” Oswald gushes. “I mean it. It’s been too long.”

“I’ll be there,” Jim says. “Sorry to cut this short, but I have some online homework I need to finish before the meet.”

“I do too,” Ed says. “But um, I’ll leave messenger open.”

“Okay.” Jim stands while holding his laptop with one arm and slings his bag over his shoulder. “Have fun at work, Oswald.”

“Never,” he snaps back. He pats Ed’s shoulder and gets up to wander off somewhere off screen.

Jim relocates from the plush chair to the small circular table in the center of the room. He sets his bag on a nearby chair and pulls his math book out of his bag. “Not that sitting around not talking isn’t fine, Ed, but maybe we could use the text chat? I was going to play some music.”

“That um, music sounds nice, actually, if you don’t mind keeping the video open.”

“Sure, any preferences?” Ed shakes his head. Jim shrinks the chat video until Ed’s face only takes up a fourth of his screen and opens up his music. “Cool, hope you’re feeling some classic rock.”

-

Jim arrives early because his beat-up car is still faster than a charter bus full of his teammates, and it gives him enough time to stop by Ed’s dorm. He raps on the door with three sharp taps, and the muffled sound behind it sounds enough like a greeting to signal for him to enter. The door is unlocked when he tries it, and he hardly has time to drop his bag by the door before Ed’s launched himself up from the futon and into Jim’s waiting arms. The quick hug turns into a drawn-out hold, and Jim nods to Oswald from across the room while continuing to let Ed cling.

“You can join if you feel like you’re missing out,” he says to Oswald. Ed’s busy burrowing his nose against Jim’s team jacket and gripping the back with his long fingers.

“I’m capable of waiting for my turn,” he says, and proceeds to look at the two of them wistfully.

“Come here,” Jim says, and he holds out his left arm until Oswald “reluctantly” joins the hug. “God, I need to figure out some more excuses to come over here.”

“Exactly how long is track season?” Oswald asks, his voice muffled against Jim’s shirt.

“It’s indoor and outdoor, so I guess the whole year.”

Oswald dramatically wriggles free of the hug and throws himself face first onto the futon. Ed takes advantage of the now free real estate of Jim's arm by not so subtly placing it on his back.

“Jim, you're tearing this family apart,” Oswald bemoans.

“Sorry for being involved,” he says, though he does sound genuinely sorry, at least in part. “As much as I'd rather just stay here, I really can't.”

“The meet,” Ed whispers.

“Warm-ups first,” Jim corrects him. “I'd like to avoid needing knee surgery before I'm twenty.”

“We'll be there,” Oswald says. He pops up from the bed, whining forgotten, and helps extract Jim from Ed's leech-like hug. “And before you ask, yes, I do plan to embarrass you. If your mother isn't going to be there, someone has to.”

-

He gets third. It's respectable for a meet this size, and Ed and Oswald’s genuine excitement for his accomplishment eclipses the brief disappointment when he sees his time on the scoreboard.

“You were  _ so fast _ -” Ed rambles while Oswald proclaims, “I'm being serious, I'm buying you dinner.” And back to Ed with a, “oh, you qualified for state.”

Jim turns around and looks at the board again, and by his name and the first two is a blocky asterisk indicating qualifying times. He turns back to them, this time beaming, barely ready to catch the two of them as they glomp onto him.

-

“If I'd known the ceremonies were going to be so long, I would have demanded you skip,” Oswald says. He's sucking down a soda and munching away at a gyro from a tiny shop on the corner a block from the indoor track field. Jim has two, and Ed is trailing behind with one he's meticulously unwrapping while trying to keep all the filling inside the pita.

“I don't think medalists can do that,” Jim says. He taps a pinky against the bronze still dangling over his track sweats. “Since they expect to actually put something around my neck.”

“Where is state?” Ed inquires.

“Dunno. I think it changes every year.”

“Well, I say we should petition to have it here.” Oswald sucks at the remnants of his soda loudly before tossing the cup in the next trashcan they pass. “Otherwise I guess we're going on a road trip.”

“I don't think I've ever left Gotham,” Ed says, somewhat surprised. “Have I?”

“I can't imagine when you would have,” Oswald says.

“Huh,” he hums.

Jim falls back a bit until he and Ed are in step. “Guess state could be your chance.” Ed nods. “Or spring break,” he offers. “Maybe somewhere small, like-”

“Cancun?” Oswald offers. “Or maybe Hawaii.”

“Those aren't exactly close,” Jim laughs.

“No, but they're  _ warm _ .” He takes a large bite and swallows far too soon, grimacing. “So I guess you’re driving back tonight.”

“The team is, I'm not.” They both look up at Jim with excitement. “I got permission to drive separately. Just had to sign a form.” Ed bumps their shoulders together, smiling when Jim looks over at him. “Thought you guys would like that.”

-

The three of them return to Ed’s dorm to watch movies. The futon converts to a couch, and although the screen isn’t large his laptop on a chair works when the movies they’re playing are only funny because they’re so bad.

“What if you said you were visiting your mother?” Oswald offers twenty minutes into their second movie. He tosses a piece of popcorn at Jim when he doesn’t respond, and another that hits his cheek when he looks over. “Are you falling asleep? I’m trying to come up with some genius ideas to get you back to Gotham more often.”

“Yeah, right,” Jim nods emphatically.

Oswald just stares at him, unimpressed. “You didn’t hear a word I said did you.”

“Yeah,” he says, and then, “no. Sorry.”

“He said you could visit your mother,” Ed repeats for Oswald.

“Yeah but then I’d actually  _ have  _ to,” he says. “I mean, yeah she’s my mom but it’s been kind of nice not having her hover over me.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Oswald says. “I love my mother dearly, but her ‘visit’ to Hungary has been a blessing.”

“Still not admitting she’s moved back?”

“She never will,” Oswald sighs. “I’m going to make some popcorn.”

Jim turns his attention to Ed, who’s been extremely quiet since the topic of parents became the focus. He slings his arm over Ed’s shoulders and gives him a gentle shake. “Hey, you doing okay?”

“Hm? Oh, right,” he shrugs his shoulders and settles back against Jim’s arm. “Fine. Fine enough. My parents haven’t tried to contact me.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“I don’t think they care about me.”

Oswald glances over from the microwave and Jim glances up at him. They exchange a knowing look, and then Jim turns his full attention back to Ed. “It’s their loss,” he tells Ed. He doesn’t look convinced. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Ed shakes his head. “I already told this to the school’s therapist. Besides, you're only here for another day. I don’t want to sour it.”

“You could always stay longer,” Oswald calls over. His eyes are still on the popcorn as it starts to pop.

“Yeah. My mom would probably fillet me if I started skipping my classes.” Jim jostles Ed again to get him to look up from the floor. “It’s okay. Forget them. And hell, even if you're right about your parents, Oswald and I care about you.”

“I know.”

Jim smiles at him, a bit sad at the edges but happy too, hopeful. Ed manages a weak smile back. The room settles into a comfortable silence, broken up by the sounds of bad effects from the laptop and the continuous pops from the microwave as it reaches the crescendo and begins to taper off.

Jim’s gaze flicks down to Ed’s lips, back up, and down again, and he tips forward gently and kisses him.

The bowl clatters when it strikes the ground, Oswald swears, “shit!”, and Jim and Ed snap apart, both equally wide eyed and shocked. “I’m sorry!” though he’s clearly sarcastic, “but I was under the impression you were straight?”

“Uh,” Jim looks between Oswald and Ed and hastily takes his arm back from around Ed’s shoulders. “Guess not?”

“Guess not, you guess not,” Oswald laughs. “Why did you kiss him?”

“I uh,” he looks to Ed again and his bright red cheeks, and he rubs his own blush with one palm, “I don’t know. Felt right?”

“Did it now,” Oswald says. He sputters out something unintelligible and smacks the microwave button when it starts to beep. “Great. Perfect.”

“Oswald, I just-”

Oswald holds up a hand. “Just give me a minute, please.”

Oswald crosses his arms and stands by the window, pouting as he huffs frustrated breaths through his nose. Jim looks to Ed, pleading, and Ed fidgets with the cuffs of his shirt and avoids eye contact. “Ed, help me out here.”

“We’ve been doing that,” he says softly. “Oswald and I.”

“You’ve been doing what?”

“Kissing,” Ed says.

“We’re dating,” Oswald clarifies. He glances over and crosses the room, moving Ed’s laptop so he can have the chair. “Ed and I are dating.”

“Oh.” Jim visibly deflates into the back of the futon. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Oswald says. “We should have, but it didn’t feel right doing it through a computer.”

“When did you start dating?”

“College,” Ed says. He picks at his nails until Oswald grabs one of his hands and makes him stop, then he just fusses with his shirt again.

“We didn’t mean to hide it from you,” Oswald says. He won’t look at Jim either now. “Let’s just forget it, please? You leave tomorrow. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day arguing.”

Jim watches Oswald get up and walk back to the microwave to retrieve the dropped bowl and fill it with popcorn. And then he turns back to Ed and his fretting hands, and he sighs. “No.”

“What?” Oswald tears the popcorn bag too far and some of it spills out onto the floor. “Damn it!” He tosses the remaining bag into the bowl without dumping it out and sets it aside. It takes several deep breaths for him to calm down. “What are you talking about? No what?”

“We shouldn’t drop it,” Jim says. “Okay? That’s what I’m saying.”

Oswald sighs and crosses his arms. “What do you want, Jim? Are you trying to goad me into something? Are we going to fight for Ed’s favor?”

“I don’t think I want that,” Ed pipes up, only to retreat again and focus on his nails.

“We aren’t going to fight,” Jim says to Ed, and then to Oswald, “I don’t want that.”

“Then what do you want, Jim?”

“I,” he groans, “I want to be part of your lives.”

Oswald drops his arms, looking lost and confused. “You are a part of our lives Jim.”

“Not as much as I used to be. I miss you guys,” Jim says. “We used to spend pretty much every day together. You didn’t even tell me you started dating.”

Oswald moves back to the chair and sits. He takes one of Ed’s hands again and massages his palm with his fingers. “You're our best friend, Jim. How could you be more involved?”

Jim glances over at Ed and their brief eye contact makes Ed blush. “I mean, I think that’s kind of obvious.”

Oswald sputters out a laugh. “What? Sorry, are, are you actually suggesting we, what, just all date each other? Maybe we can find a nice town home to move into together?”

Jim blinks. “Uh, yeah, I guess I am. I mean, I don’t want to split you guys up.” He looks at Ed and holds out a hand, and after sparing a glance to Oswald, Ed takes it. “What do you think?”

“Well,” Oswald sighs, and when Jim offers up his other hand he closes the little circle. “I think we have  _ a lot  _ of things to talk about.”

-

“I could always transfer,” Jim says the next morning. He’s diagonal on the futon, running a hand up and down one of Ed’s calves and letting Oswald use his stomach as a pillow. Ed’s mostly checked out of the conversation, focusing his attention on tracing the outline of Jim’s ankle bone.

“Absolutely not,” Oswald chides. “At the very least, you should see if Gotham U will take you for track first.”

“Maybe after state,” he says wistfully. He takes a moment to trace his finger over the bottom of Ed’s foot and nearly gets kicked in the face for his efforts. “Just as long as it’s sooner rather than later.”

“I thought your college has the program you want to complete?”

“I don’t really know what I want to do,” Jim admits. “Part of me just wants track to keep mattering so I don’t have to choose yet.”

“I don't know for sure since I'm not a student,” Oswald says, “but that doesn't sound like the best strategy.”

“Probably not.” Jim teases a lock of Oswald's hair between his thumb and forefinger. “This is going to suck.”

“Regretting your decisions already?” Oswald teases. He reaches over Jim to pat Ed on the side. “I’m kidding.” Ed pauses his tracing long enough to nod, and then he’s back to his own world.

“I just mean the part where I’m, you know, three hours away. I’ll find more excuses to come back.” Jim lets his hand trail up Ed’s pajama pants a bit higher and he abruptly sits up, cheeks already pink and accusing eyes focused on Jim. “Too much?”

Ed folds up his legs and drops onto Jim’s shoulder, snuffling around until he’s settled with his face pressed against his peck. Oswald reaches over and rescues Ed’s glasses from being bent out of shape and then Ed’s back to settling in. Whether or not he’s planning on sleeping is unclear, but he’s doing a decent job of pretending if it’s not his intent.

“He’s a bit excitable,” Oswald explains matter-of-factually. Ed swats blindly until he makes contact with Oswald’s shoulder. “I hope you weren’t planning on leaving right this minute.”

“What time is it?”

“It’s,” he pauses to check the alarm clock, “fuck. Seven?”

Jim sighs. “Well, I don’t really feel like getting in a car accident because I fell asleep driving. I guess I can stay for a nap.”


	4. It's all a series of trial and error tests

Ed trudges through the poorly shoveled paths that cut through the central campus at Gotham University. He keeps his nose buried in his scarf, gloved hands clutching at his bag to keep it steady as he dodges other students and enters the biology building.

Inside he sets his bag down on a bench and removes his gloves, hat, scarf, and coat, struggling with the last one as it catches on his shirtsleeve and tries to take that off with it. He wipes the condensation and melted snow off his glasses using his shirt and bundles his winter weather gear into a pile he can carry under one arm.

He only gets as far as pulling in his backpack before his phone starts buzzing in his pocket, so he drops onto the bench with his backpack on and answers the call from Jim. “Hello.”

“Hey, you busy right now?”

“I'm meeting a professor soon,” he says. “It's not urgent. His office hours just started and I don't have class until five.”

“Great, this shouldn't take long.” Jim says something away from the receiver and Ed waits patiently until he's done. “Sorry, roommate's freaking out about his final paper.”

“Do you have any papers?”

“Tests, not too big a deal, listen,” he says, “I got confirmation on the location for State this year. It's not at Gotham U.”

“Oh,” Ed sighs.

“But it's not here either,” he adds hurriedly. “I'll be stuck in a hotel with my team, but I'll give Oswald the details when he's off work.”

“Hotels are expensive,” Ed whispers.

“I know,” Jim says. “It's okay. My mom's going to make it to this one since she worked during qualifiers, and then I'll be back in town for winter break after finals. I'll still see you soon.”

“I might be working,” Ed says. “I found a lab that needs an assistant over winter break.”

“That's great.”

“It's only grunt work. Centrifugation, pipetting-”

“Hey, it's still a job, and it gets your name out there.” Jim sounds proud, and Ed puffs up a bit after the reassurances. “Maybe Oswald can swindle my mom into letting you both stay with her during the meet. I don't know if she'll want to drive back late.”

“He'll have some ideas,” Ed says. “I don't know if they'll be good.”

“They'll be interesting,” Jim says. “Look, I'll let you get to your job thing and I'll harass Oswald once it's closing time. We'll talk later.”

“Later,” Ed repeats, and the line goes dead. He feels another vibrate almost immediately after the call ends, and it's Jim, this time with a text.

It's a little heart out of the less than sign and a three, and Ed smiles down at it before copying it and sending one back.

-

Zsasz pulls his family's SUV into traffic and starts matching the flow of the rest of the cars trying to leave the campus for the weekend. He's unphased by the frustrations of stop and go traffic, content to continue at a leisurely pace while others honk around them and cut him off to be one length closer to the light.

“When's Gordon's run?”

“This afternoon,” Oswald says from the back. He leans forward to stick his body through the gap between the seats. “I told you that this morning.”

“Oswald that isn't safe,” Ed interrupts.

“I'm fine,” he says, but he does sit back in his seat. “He runs this afternoon.”

“I know that,” Zsasz says, “but what  _ time _ , you know? Do we have some free time in the city?”

“We already  _ live  _ in a city,” Oswald says.

“Yeah but this is a different city, so it's automatically better.” Zsasz signals to get off the main road and onto the freeway. “So are we showing Jim a good time or what?”

“No, because aside from a few precious hours he's going to be stuck with his team. We're going so we can support him.” Zsasz frowns back at Oswald from the rear view mirror. “You could have just loaned us the car,” Oswald reminds him.

“Wasn't doing anything else this weekend.” He grins back at Oswald. “You're my entertainment.”

“From here you look like a chauffeur. Maybe we can find a tarp to hang between us and you to heighten the experience.”

Zsasz pouts. “That's not funny.”

“It kind of is,” Oswald says, chuckling under his breath. He turns to Ed and holds out a hand when he sees the Rubik's Cube is out. Ed hands it over for a scramble. “Do you get carsick?” He asks.

“Only sometimes.”

“You better not throw up back there,” Zsasz warns. “If I catch hell then you're catching hell.”

“Noted,” Oswald says, cheeky. With more sincerity he tells Ed, “just nap if you need to. I'm sure Zsasz can entertain me on the drive.”

Ed takes back his Rubik's Cube and starts to solve it, then abruptly puts it away in his backpack and unbuckles his seatbelt. He moves to the third row bench seat and settles in, letting one arm dangle with his hand dragging across the floor. His legs don't fit properly until he bends his knees at an obtuse angle, but once they're comfortable he buckles the middle seat belt around his waist and places his classes in the nearest cupholder.

He blinks up at Oswald's blurry shape and pulls his arm back up from the floor. “I think I'll sleep.”

“Okay,” Oswald says. He catapults himself through the seat gap and settles into the passenger seat by Zsasz, who's smirking at Oswald but not saying a word.

Ed doesn't actually sleep, but he closes his eyes and listens to Oswald and Zsasz while they talk over the radio.

“I'm actually surprised you were even available,” Oswald says. “You don't have any state competition for swimming?”

“Nah, we're done for the season.”

“Oh,” Oswald hums, “I thought you were doing well.”

“ _ I  _ did. Team took a giant crap though. It was like, two of us. They only had to get one hotel room. Guy I was rooming with didn't even medal. I got one first, couple of seconds. Not really this school's strong suit I guess.” Zsasz lets out a noisy breath somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “But it was like, a month ago. Swimming does its shit early.”

“Sounds thrilling,” Oswald deadpans.

“Got laid, so that was pretty cool.”

Ed shifts in the back seat, curling his legs up a bit tighter. His cheeks are pinking up.

Oswald just sputters, “what! During the competition!”

“No, at the hotel,” Zsasz tells him proudly. “I had to do like, four races and then stick around for the relays. I was bored, and then I wasn't.”

Oswald sighs. “Isn't there supposed to be some sort of thrill of competition or something? How were you bored?”

“Don't know,” he says plainly. “Swimming's not really doing it for me. Getting kind of stale.”

“Oh,” Oswald trails off. He doesn't say anything more.

Ed bends his arm so it's cradling his head and closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again Zsasz is parking the car, proclaiming their spot to be, “legit. Not even three rows away.”

“That's because it's not even warm up time,” Oswald says, “which I'm going to assume is due to you  _ speeding _ , even though you told me I wasn't allowed to break traffic laws when  _ I  _ drove this beast.”

“You can hardly see over the dash. You might mow over a small car.” Oswald gasps, offended, but Zsasz opens his car door. “I'll go get checked in.”

Oswald grumbles until the door shuts, and then he climbs through the gap between the seats and walks back to Ed, who's sitting up and blinking slowly. His glasses are still off and he squints up at Oswald's bent over frame. “We're here?”

“Just arrived,” Oswald says. He reaches over Ed and grabs his glasses, then carefully slides them in place for Ed when he doesn't move to do it himself. “Early, if you didn't hear. If you're still tired you could take a nap.”

“I already did that,” he says, still sounding groggy. “I did, right?”

“You slept for nearly two hours,” Oswald says. He smoothes a bit of Ed's floppy hair off his forehead. “But I remember you telling me you slept poorly last night.”

“I did, but, well, what about Jim?”

“Jim isn't here yet,” he says as he glances at his phone, which has no messages or missed calls. “No one's going to judge a college student for wanting some extra sleep.”

Ed nods. “Okay.”

He looks up at Oswald expectantly, nibbling at the corner of his lower lip, and Oswald sighs in a very put out way. “Yes  _ fine  _ you don't need to beg.” He cups a hand under Ed's jaw and tilts his head up to kiss him, and Ed hums a little pleased note. “Now come inside and take another nap so you're not cranky for the one day we get to see Jim this month.”

-

“He’s taking a nap,” Oswald says. Ed comes around, blinking slowly, as he says the word taking. “I made him lie down when we got here.”

“So you could say you put him down for a nap?” Jim teases.

“Yes, if I wanted to sound like my mother I would say I put him down for a nap.” Oswald snaps back.

“Hey, easy,” Jim soothes Oswald. “Just messing with you a little.”

“I got enough of that on the car ride here, thank you.” He crosses his arms and juts out one hip in an obvious pout. “Zsasz is,” he pauses, “he’s a lot, at times.”

“Right. So where is Zsasz anyway? I got like, twenty texts from him this morning.”

“Getting laid somewhere? Who really knows?” Jim spits out a peal of laughter. Oswald shrugs.

“It  _ is  _ a hotel,” Jim says softly. He cups Oswald’s cheek with one hand and tips his face up for a kiss.

“Hm,” Oswald hums, and he puts a hand on Jim’s chest. “I’ll pass, thanks. I have no desire to add any more fluids to what I’m worried is already not the cleanest room.”

“There's always the bathroom,” Jim suggests. He looks past Oswald and his disgusted face to Ed, who's managed to sit up but hasn't made a move to grab his glasses or do much other than blink tiredly. “Hey, Ed.”

Ed looks down at the bed covers still pooled around his hips. “Is the bed dirty?”

“It’s fine,” Jim says. He crosses the room and retrieves Ed's glasses from the bedside table. “How you been, Ed?”

He blinks once, twice. Eventually he holds out a hand and accepts his glasses from Jim. Putting them on doesn’t help with his apparent fatigue. “Tired.”

“Yeah, end of semester kind of blows,” Jim says. He winks at Ed and smirks at his blush, and he kisses him. “Did you have to bring work?”

“A paper,” Ed says, yawning, but looks more alert once he’s done. “Did I miss your run?”

“Naw, bus just got in half an hour ago. We’re supposed to go start warming up soon.” He turns to Oswald and Ed and addresses them both. “My races are all early afternoon, but someone on the team is in discus or something, and that’s late evening.”

“So you’ll be free after your last race,” Oswald fills in for him.

“For a few hours at least.” Jim shrugs. “It isn’t much but it’s something.” Ed pushes himself up onto his knees and knee-walks until he's close enough to drape himself over his back. “At least winter break’s not far away.”

“I got the lab job,” Ed whispers. Jim turns his head until he can just barely reach Ed's cheek and gives him another kiss. He hums. “I won't be free all day.”

“It's not like I have several weeks off,” Oswald pipes up. “And Jim's mother will demand a certain amount of attention from him I'm  _ sure _ . We can spare him during the working hours.”

“She works too,” Jim says, “but I guess Zsasz will be bored.”

“That’s a very dangerous thing,” Oswald warns him. “As his first point of contact after discovering his boredom I have a lot of firsthand experience. I'm sure he'd love the attention.”

“We'll figure it out,” he says, confident and sure even as Ed droops against him sadly. He reaches up and pets some of his unruly bedhead. “Jeez your hair grows too fast. Did you bring clippers?” He directs the question to Oswald.

Oswald puffs out his cheeks and crosses his arms. Jim looks at him expectantly, but he’s very patient, just fussing with Ed’s wild hair and slowly smiling wider as Oswald continues to put off answering. “Yes, okay!” He shrieks, throwing his hands up. “Yes, I brought them.”

“You’re always so prepared,” Jim teases.

“Stop. Not one more word,” Oswald demands, wagging one finger in Jim’s face. “I am  _ not  _ becoming my mother. His hair is just getting long, and-both of you stop that!” he shrieks at their smiling faces.

-

The bleachers on the longest legs of the indoor track are sparsely filled with a mishmash of parents and students. Ed and Oswald are seated on the highest seat in the exact middle overlooking the finish line for the longer races. Ed is munching away on a small bag of popcorn, and Oswald has a soda. Down on the track Jim can be seen doing some warm up stretches and chatting with his coach.

Oswald and Ed are sharing a comfortable silence, which Ed disrupts by whispering, “I’ve never had sex,” to Oswald, and he spits soda onto the empty bleacher in front of them and boggles at Ed. One of the nearby mother's side eyes Oswald, and he hastily wipes up the sticky mess with some napkins before returning his full attention to Ed.

“Is,” he blinks, “did you really mean to say that right now? Right here?”

Ed glances to the groups around them, sitting and talking amongst themselves and not paying attention to the two of them now that the initial spectacle is cleaned up. “I heard you and Zsasz talking about it,” he says, and then clarifies, “in the car.”

Oswald groans and rubs a hand over his face. “Yes, for about five minutes,” he sighs, “and then he got distracted about breakfast food. Has this been percolating up here,” he taps Ed’s temple, “all day?”

“Jim’s coming back during break,” Ed says in lieu of an answer.

Oswald tips back until he’s resting against the cinderblock wall behind them. “You know,” he starts, “that’s not exactly true.” Ed turns to him and leans against the wall close enough that their shoulders are touching.

“He’s not coming back?”

“About you not having  _ sex _ , Ed,” he hisses under his breath. “The two of us,” he hints, gesturing between them. Ed blinks. “Ed the definition for,” he hesitates, “for  _ sex  _ is subjective.”

“I don't know,” he trails off.

“As if  _ I  _ do, Ed, really,” he touches his arm, “if you're that worried about it then talk with Jim while we're in the same town. Hell, he'll probably be  _ thrilled  _ you're even thinking about it.”

“Yeah?”

“Trust me,” Oswald says. There's a distinct blow of a whistle before he can say anything more, and he physically turns Ed's head towards the track to watch Jim as he speeds towards the corner.

-

“And  _ another  _ thing,” Oswald spits out as he and Ed lead Jim to their hotel room, “if that, that  _ degenerate  _ of a coach thinks I'm going to sit back and  _ not  _ call out that hooligan who else started-”

“They  _ saw _ , Oswald. It's kind of why he was disqualified.” Jim taps a finger against his silver medal. “Otherwise this would have been bronze.”

“It was kind of frightening,” Ed says softly, clinging to Jim's jacket with one hand and fidgeting with his shirt with the other.

“Reminded me of soccer moms,” Jim says. He smiles down at Oswald’s scowl. “I'm just happy I medaled. Easier to get a transfer with scholarships if I'm not shit at my chosen sport.”

“And now you're a big fancy track star,” Oswald gushes. He mimes a swoon into Jim’s side and stretches his arm out to use their keycard. “We’ll have to brandish a stick to keep women from flocking all over you.”

Jim looks between Oswald and Ed skeptically. “I think I’ll just tell people I’m taken.”

“I’m going to pretend that wasn’t a slight,” Oswald sniffs. He stands up straight and pushes the room door in to let Jim and Ed inside. “The clippers are in my bag,” he trails off, “somewhere.”

“Bathroom,” Ed says, and Oswald scampers off to the small attached room. He says to Jim, “thank you.”

“Can't let you turn into one of those blanket dogs, whatever they're called,” Jim teases with his words and also some fingers sliding up into Ed's hair. Ed tips his head to the side so it's resting against Jim's.

“Afghan,” he whispers.

“Yeah, like the blanket.” He turns his body so he can loop an arm around Ed's waist and tilts his chin up into his shoulder. “Jesus why do you keep getting taller? It's not fair.”

“Delayed growth spurt,” Ed muses. He loosens his grip on Jim's sleeve and plasters his arms across Jim's back.

Oswald steps back into the main room of the hotel with the clippers bag in hand, politely coughs when his presence isn't noticed, and smirks at them both when they reluctantly separate to give him their full attention. “I can't leave you two unattended for a  _ second _ .”

Jim shrugs. “My bus leaves really early in the morning. Just using my time wisely.”

“Well here's another way to do that,” he hands over the bag to Jim, “and while you're at it there's something of mild concern Ed's brought to my attention, and based on how red he's getting-” he gestures to Ed's pinking cheeks- “I better just come out and say some things on his behalf, right?” He asks Ed, and Ed nods. “Good. Jim, I'm sure you've been wondering when this little relationship of ours was going to get more physical.”

“Uh.” Jim looks between Oswald and Ed, whose cheeks are redder than his shirt. “I mean I guess? I'm not in a hurry-”

“Jim just let me do this please,” he says in a rush. His cheeks aren't as bad as Ed's but they're starting to flush. “Ed and I are  _ very _ inexperienced.” He pauses for comments; none are forthcoming. Jim can't seem to get past switching his wide eyed gaze between them. Ed's retreating into the collar of his rugby style shirt. “Obviously there's a certain amount of trial and error that's going to have to take place to figure out, this,” he gestures between them all, “but, and this isn't something Ed knows yet, this is me giving the two of you my sincerest blessing to just,” he sighs, “just go at it. I'm not going to feel left out or any other ridiculous thing you could come up with.”

Jim, who's face hasn't shown anything other than blank shock, changes to confusion. “Do you not like sex?”

“It's,” he lets out a loud gust of air, “it's fine. I enjoy myself if that's your concern, but I don't have the patience to get any good without the two of you doing the heavy lifting, so just hammer out the details and come find me then.”

“So we'll just, uh, bang out the details?” Jim asks. Ed snorts into his hand and tries to unsuccessfully turn it into a series of coughs. Jim can't stop grinning. “That's what you want?”

Oswald’s eye twitches a little. “Sometimes I really do hate you, Jim Gordon.”

-

“Am I doing anything funky this time?” Jim asks. He takes out the electric clippers and digs through the small collection of attachments until he finds the right one. Oswald isn't in the bathroom with them. The television in the main room occasionally cuts through the silence due to the closed bathroom door.

Ed shakes his head, causing some of his shower damp waves to flop onto his forehead. He's already set aside his glasses on the toilet tank. “No.”

“Someday you'll let me try something new,” Jim says with certainty. He taps a toe on one of the folding chair legs they set up in the middle of the tiled room. “Go ahead and sit. You uh, might want to take your shirt off unless you want to be itchy.”

Jim turns around when Ed doesn't say anything, only to snap back around when he finds Ed already halfway done removing his shirt. The tips of his ears turn pink, and Ed covers his chest with his shirt until Jim has the forethought to grab one of the hotel towels and wrap it around his shoulders.

He looks at Ed's scared face in the mirror and laughs. “This is stupid. I've seen you shirtless before.”

“Not with the same context,” Ed mumbles down at his lap. He fidgets with the buttons of his shirt before reaching over to set it aside on the bathroom counter, tugging the edges of the towel a bit closer together to cover his bare skin.

“That's true,” he agrees. Jim taps Ed's shoulder and Ed holds out a hand to accept the clippers, using the other to hold the towel in place. Jim gathers up the longest parts of Ed's hair and loosely bands them with a hair tie in the middle of Ed's head. “Jeez, we let this go too long this time.”

“Since the summer,” Ed says. Jim takes back the clippers and flips the switch, filling the room with an echoing buzz as he slowly shears the undercut to its usual one inch length. “It starts to curl down here,” he says softly as he brushes a finger across the hairs at the base of Ed's neck. Ed jolts a little, and shivers. “Sorry.”

“It tickled,” Ed says.

“Figured,” Jim says back. He avoids brushing the hairs again as he cuts away the tiny single loop curls with the clippers. “I should teach Oswald to do this,” he adds as he rounds Ed's ear.

“No thank you.”

“Don't think he could manage?” Jim asks. He starts running his fingers through the short hairs he’s just cut; Ed closes his eyes and leans into the touch.

“It’s not that,” he mumbles. “He’d try to style it how he likes.”

Jim nods although Ed hasn’t opened his eyes yet, and he continues to massage the back of Ed’s head. “Ozzie’s style is unique.”

“It’s several decades old,” Ed points out.

“True,” Jim agrees. He undoes the hair tie and starts combing through the longer portion of Ed's hair with his fingers. “He'd probably dress you too if you let him.”

“I don't like button down shirts.”

“I know.” He shuts off the clippers and finds the sharp, stainless steel pair of scissors in the bag. Ed tenses when Jim makes the first cut, and gradually relaxes as he keeps going without pause. “Maybe I should drop out and learn to cut hair.”

“Do you want to cut hair?” Ed blinks rapidly as a clump lands near his eyes.

Jim swipes it away with a gentle brush. “I like cutting your hair.” He makes another few snips. “Maybe that's because of the context.”

Taming Ed's hair doesn't take him very long. It gradually returns to its old floppy shape, well cut and low maintenance but also attractive. It suits him.

“Looks good,” he whispers. He's placed his chin on Ed's shoulder to look at him straight on in the mirror. “Might have left this part a little longer on accident,” he says as he gestures to Ed's bangs, “but it lays nice.”

“I can't see it,” he says, squinting at the mirror and frowning at himself.

“Here, don't dump hair all over.” Jim carefully extracts Ed from his towel and bundles up the loose cuttings into the center. Ed holds himself in a curled over position, but he stands close to the mirror and peers at himself, smiling briefly at his hair and frowning down at his bare chest.

“Did I fuck it up?”

“It's nice,” Ed says. He crosses the room to retrieve his glasses and slips them on. “Thank you.”

“Here,” Jim waves Ed over to the combined shower and bathtub. “You'll shed everywhere if you don't rinse.”

Ed boggles at Jim, but he approaches the edge of the tub. Jim removes the shower head from its hook and kneels by the side, and Ed nods with understanding and kneels to his right. He sets his glasses on the floor beside him, rests his chin on his arms, and tips his he's forward until it's hovering over the tub. Jim tips it a tiny bit farther and switches on the water. As he rinses Ed's hair he runs his fingers through it, shaking the loose hairs out and watching them flow down the drain.

His hand wanders from Ed's hair to his neck, rubbing there a bit and clearing it of stray hairs before going to his back and just settling there. Ed glances up through his wet hair and the water stream, but Jim feigns innocence, at least until he winks and Ed turns away to hide his blush.

Jim switches off the water and returns the shower head to its hook. “All done.”

Ed tips his head up and water runs down his neck and face in tiny rivulets. He stays bent over the tub while Jim grabs a clean towel and drapes it over his head and shoulders. After he's covered he blindly searches for his glasses and slips them on as he stands.

“Th-” Jim kisses him before he can finish his thought. He stands back after and raises one eyebrow, a silent question, and when Ed nods he kisses him again.

They don't get very far before Jim breaks away again, laughing to himself. “Hold on,” he says, reaching up and ruffling Ed's hair with his towel, “you're getting water all over me.”

“You're the one that didn't wait for me to dry,” Ed says.

Jim shrugs and tugs Ed back in by pulling on the two ends of the towel. Shortly after they start back up they're interrupted again, this time by a few knocks on the door.

“Jim.” Ed clutches his shirt. “Jim is that the maid?”

“They don't do the cleaning this late,” he assures Ed. “It's probably Oswald.”

“Don't mind me,” Oswald calls to them through the door. “I'm just going to get a snack. Carry on.”

“See?” Jim asks.

Ed is less trusting. “I thought we were going to go eat after my haircut?”

“It’s just a courtesy thing, it's okay.” He pauses as they hear the hotel door open and shut. “See?”

“Courtesy for what?” Ed blinks.

“C’mon,” Jim says, smiling at him and tugging at the ends of the towel. “You'll see.”

Jim opens the bathroom door and pulls Ed with him, only to stop dead and cause Ed to run into his back. Zsasz is standing in the center of the room, and as he slowly turns around he sucks at a gigantic soda and sends a little wave their way.

“Don't mind me,” he says in a monotone. He takes another big drink of his soda. “Your school did pretty good Gordon. Got a good long distance man I had the pleasure to meet.”

“Why are you here?” Jim asks. He holds still as Ed huddles behind him to hide his half dressed state.

“Kind of footed the bill for this place,” Zsasz says. He kicks his toe against the foot of one of the beds. “And Oswald said we were getting food.”

“Where is Oswald?” Ed pipes up from behind Jim.

“Just left. Went to find your mom.” He points at Jim. “Said she was invited to dinner too.”

“He did this on purpose,” Jim mutters, close enough to Ed that Zsasz can't fully hear. “Jesus.”

“But why?” Ed whispers.

“The teasing,” Jim hisses. “It's gotta be that. He's getting us back.”

“Oswald is ruthless when he thinks he's been wronged,” Ed says so quietly it's almost a breath.

“Tell me about it,” Jim sighs. “Go grab your shirt. Break's only a couple weeks away.”


	5. Oh my god they were roommates

Jim picks up a tee shirt from a pile and sniffs it, grimacing and tossing it into his hamper and moving onto the next shirt. This time he shrugs and tosses it onto the ladder for his lofted bed.

“You know you could just do laundry,” Oswald says from Jim’s mattress.

“We’re driving back in two days,” Jim says. “I’ll just use the one in my apartment once I get there.”

“So you’re planning on smelling like body odor for the entirety of finals week,” Oswald says, mildly disgusted. When Jim nods he sticks out his tongue. “Sick. Really that’s just disgusting.”

“You’re the one lying on my bed,” Jim says. He adds another shirt to the ladder and another two to his hamper. “Haven’t washed those since spring break.”

Oswald sits up and nearly hits his head on the ceiling. “James Gordon-!”

“If the smell bothered you then you would have already said something,” Jim says matter-of-factly. Oswald sputters, but he flops onto his back and lets out a frustrated breath. Jim just shrugs. “I got busy.”

“You’re an animal.”

“A busy one,” Jim says, smirking. Oswald pouts down at him, so Jim abandons his shirts and stands on his rolling chair so he can reach Oswald to kiss him.

“You’re going to break your neck and I’ll probably go to jail for it.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jim says. “Why would you go to jail?”

Oswald gently taps two fingers against Jim’s forehead. It doesn’t make him tip other than a tiny nod of his neck, but he chuckles and gets down off the chair. He picks up where he left off and tosses another shirt into the hamper.

“Ed’s disappointed he couldn’t come,” Oswald says.

“He has five final tests and two papers,” Jim says.

“Three,” Oswald corrects him. “And I know, it was better he stay in Gotham, but...”

“But?” Jim drops a pair of jeans on the floor and climbs two rungs of his loft ladder to watch Oswald fuss with a loose button on his shirt. “You’re worried about him?”

“He doesn’t like being left out,” Oswald says softly.

“Ah,” Jim sighs. He crawls up into his bed and curls up behind Oswald, dragging him close with an arm around his waist. “He gets you all to himself most of the time.” Oswald snuffles unhappily and bundled up a bit of Jim’s sheets into his arms. “It’s not like you’re partying here with me.”

“I’m still here with you,” Oswald says. “I know packing isn’t a thrill but-”

“I get it,” Jim says. “We’ll call him tonight. I could use a study partner.”

-

“Told you I shouldn’t come here,” Jim teases even as he returns Ed’s tight hug. “Really, I’m just gonna distract you from studying.”

“I finished my papers,” Ed says in his defense.

“You still have  _ three  _ tests this week,” Oswald says from his place atop Ed’s desk. Ed groans and squeezes Jim tighter, but he lets go and crosses the room to his desk and sits in his chair. “Jim’s here all summer.”

“And next year,” Jim says. Ed whirls around in his chair and would have fallen off if Oswald didn’t catch him. “Transfer went through. Even got a scholarship.”

“I was in your dorm room for  _ two days  _ and you didn’t tell me!” Oswald shrieks.

“I wanted to surprise you both,” he says, grinning.

“It’s because of track, right?” Ed asks. “Your medals at state?”

“Yep,” Jim nods. “I’ll have to do their summer training program this year, but at least it’s in Gotham.”

“You know,” Oswald starts, hopping off the desk and turning Ed back towards his work, “you two could try to get a dorm together.”

“You mean we could be roommates?” Ed says, turning around again. Oswald turns him back, so he just talks over his shoulder while opening up his study materials. “All three of us?”

“Oh, I’m not  _ living _ here,” Oswald says, winking at Jim as he does. “Jim, this is a single dorm room. It’s not meant for two people.”

“My old dorm was this big,” Jim says, incredulous. “And  _ I  _ had a roommate.”

“And you’re going to be thankful that I’ve snuck into most of the dorms and found the best ones,” Oswald says as he pats Jim on the chest. “You know, this institution would do themselves a big favor if they hired me for recruitment.”

“I think they prefer their recruiters to be alumni,” Ed says without looking up from his study packet.

“Details,” Oswald sniffs. “You know, Gotham U isn’t really well known for their salesmen degrees. They’d be smart if they brought in outside hires to entice new students to throw money at them.”

-

“I can’t believe this building doesn’t have air,” Jim says aw he waves his face with one of Ed’s folders. Ed makes a grabbing motion until Jim groans and hands it over. “Ed I’m dying in here.”

“It’s nearly ninety degrees outside.” Ed switches on the small oscillating fan on his desk and locks it in place so it’s blowing on Jim’s sweaty face. “This building is older, so there isn’t central air.”

“I’m surprised they use this building in the summer.” Jim closes his eyes and tilts his face so it’s pointed at the fan. “Oswald’s got the right idea having a job during the worst hours.”

“Why don’t you?” Ed asks.

Jim shrugs. “Wouldn’t be able to do it during school. Kind of don’t want to either.” He sits back up and leans over to look at Ed’s work. “Summer class going okay?”

“It’s not very interesting,” Ed says, “but it’s fast paced at least.”

“So being boring doesn’t matter,” Jim says, and Ed nods. “Want to take a break?”

“I have to finish this,” he says without looking away. “There’s a quiz and essays on every chapter.”

“When’s it due?”

“Friday,” Ed says. He types out a flurry of words on his laptop, taking moments to look over at his open book before adding more to his essay.

“Ed that’s in three days,” Jim groans. “You’re doing one class, and what, ten hours of work a week?”

“Fifteen,” Ed says. “But the lead professor is out this week.”

“Come on,” Jim says. He stands from his chair and holds out a hand. “I know you’re uncomfortable in this heat. We’ll go cool off.”

“Where?” Ed asks. “You aren’t technically a student until the fall.”

“We’ll go to the showers,” he says, cheeky, and he leans over to kiss Ed once. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

-

“The two of you couldn’t manage to find a dorm on the first floor?” Oswald whines. He’s carrying a backpack and two rolling suitcases. “Honestly, I  _ told  _ you multiple options. Falcone Hall is right across from the science block!”

“Yeah, but it’s not in my price range,” Jim says. He has a backpack of his own and two boxes, one stacked on top of the other. “It’ll be  _ fine _ . This building has an elevator.”

“It has some of the best proximity to the bus route,” Ed says. He only has a backpack, but he’s also carrying two manilla envelopes. “And approximately ten more square feet of floor space.”

“See? It’s a good dorm,” Jim tells Oswald in a way that makes it clear he’s been doing it all day.

“We haven’t seen the room yet,” Oswald sniffs.

“The floorplan I showed you included photos,” Ed says then turns to Jim. “Didn’t it?”

“It did,” Jim agrees with him. Ed holds the door for the two of them and Jim leads the way to the elevators, jamming his elbow into the up button a couple times until he uses enough force to light it up. “It’s close to the student health building too, right?”

“Right,” Ed whispers.

Ed retreats a bit, keeping to himself as the trio steps onto the elevator. Jim bumps him with his elbow, smiling when Ed glances up, and then bumping into Oswald when he retreats again. Oswald abandons the suitcases by the elevator wall and paps Ed’s cheeks with both hands, guiding him down for a quick kiss before the elevator stops on the fourth floor.

“Why don’t you go meet the RA,” Oswald tells Ed. He urges him out of the elevator and retrieves the suitcases while Jim leans against the door to keep it from closing on them. “We’ll be right there.”

“Kay,” Ed whispers. He clutches the envelopes to his chest and shuffles down the hall.

“So that hasn’t really gotten better, huh,” Jim says. He moves away from the elevator door so it can shut.

“Could you talk to him about it?” Oswald pleads. He starts slowly following Ed down the hall without actually making much progress. “I don’t know where he got the idea, but he apparently had the impression that his sessions with her weren’t going to keep being a thing.”

“He does like her, right? I thought he liked her.”

“He  _ adores _ her. I don’t know what he tells her. I’m not going to ask either. If he wants me to know he’ll tell me.” Oswald stops when they reach the turn in the hall and peeks around the corner. He sees Ed at the very end talking with a young woman with a ponytail and clipboard, and then he turns back to Jim. “I’ve already told him there’s nothing wrong with needing her, but I think it would help if he heard it from you too.”

“I’ll say something,” Jim says. He and Oswald turn the corner and walk towards Ed. “I wonder if his parents ever come up.”

“He  _ is  _ eighteen, so hopefully they can’t screw up his future anymore,” Oswald says. “If he isn’t mentioning them it’s an emotional block, not that I could blame him.”

“Yeah they’re pretty awful.” He walks the last fifty feet and comes to stand beside Ed. “Hope you got us all squared away. These are getting heavy.”

Ed nods and holds up two sets of keys for the dorm room and bathroom. “They’re right across from each other.”

“Lucky,” Jim says. “That means if you're fast enough you can just sprint across the hall in a towel.”

“It absolutely does  _ not  _ mean that,” Oswald shouts. “In case you missed it this is a co-ed floor. Have some decency.”

“I'm gonna do it,” Jim declares proudly. “I have to at least try it once.”

“Not everything is a  _ challenge _ , Jim,” Oswald hisses.

“Says you,” he teases. He and Oswald are following Ed to their dorm room, but after it's unlocked he stops dead in the middle of the doorway. “Uh, Ed, could you maybe do your first survey inside? These boxes are getting heavy.”

“It won't fit,” Ed says, mildly shocked.

“What?” Oswald worms his way past Jim to stand by Ed, leaving the suitcases by the wall. “What won't fit?”

“The futon.”

“That's impossible,” Oswald says. “This room is  _ bigger  _ than the last one. We, oh,” he trails off, “huh.”

“Uh, guys?” Jim asks, really it's a plea, and he struggles to adjust the boxes without dropping them.

“Here,” Oswald turns abruptly and takes the top box from Jim. “Ed, just step in a little, thank you.” He and Jim bypass Ed and stand in the middle of the room. “I think he's right.”

The room is slightly larger, visibly so, but the space contains two of the essentials (desks, lofted beds, and more of the custom wardrobe/closets), plus an unexpected tiny vanity with a sink. There's an open space in the middle of the floor, but with the wide berth needed for the desks and closet doors needing space there isn't room for anything large and cumbersome.

“Kind of forgot that part,” Jim admits. “We could move the furniture around.”

“No,” Ed says. “Or, yes, but it's already set up to maximize the open space. We wouldn't gain anything.”

“We could share a desk,” Jim says, grimacing. “Nevermind, no we couldn't.”

“It's not like we haven't shared beds before,” Oswald sighs. “I'll keep the futon at my apartment for now and share with one of you.”

-

Jim tosses his rinse cup onto the sink and drops his toothbrush inside along with his crumpled, lumpy looking toothpaste tube. He pulls open one of the drawers and tosses his shaving bag into it, knocking it shut with his foot before moving on to his closet.

“Jim is this yours?” Oswald asks, holding up his rinse cup with two fingers and holding it far away from his face.

“Yep,” he says. He adds his set of two towels to the bottom drawer of his closet and tosses his shower bag into the floor of the closet portion. “Why?”

“Do you ever  _ wash  _ it?”

Jim sighs and rests his forehead against his closet door. “Oswald-”

“If we're going to be sharing this space it's going to be  _ clean. _ ” Oswald sets aside the cup, removes the toothpaste and toothbrush, and proceeds to wash the cup. Jim's eyebrow twitches.

“I just use it for water,” Jim says, “and to hold my toothbrush. How is it  _ filthy? _ ”

“I  _ saw  _ the state your dorm was in during finals.”

“It was finals! I was  _ packing _ -”

“Um, Jim,” Ed shuffles up beside him. “Do you have a bed preference?”

“No, you pick,” he says. Ed frets with his pillowcase and looks between the two. “I mean it, I don't care either way.”

Ed nods and shuffles off again. Jim watches him, concerned, but Oswald starts muttering and he turns back. Jim groans, “what's wrong now?”

“The hot water doesn't work,” he grumbles.

“I'll tell the RA,” Jim says. He crosses the room and finds Oswald not only cleaning his rinse cup, but also meticulously cleaning out his razor and shaving bag. “Oswald-”

“I'm just cleaning,” he snaps. “This space is  _ small _ , Jim, and if we're all going to share it we can't be slobs.”

“I'm not a fucking slob!” he shouts, clenching one of his fists so hard his knuckles pop. He steps back, closes his eyes, and breathes through his nose, and it's because of this that he doesn't see Ed dart out of the room until the door slams shut. “Shit.”

“Ed,” Oswald calls after him. “Jim-”

“Don't,” he warns when Oswald tries to step closer. “I'm okay.”

Oswald crosses his arms, more a self soothing motion that irritation driven, and shakes his head. “Are you?”

Jim closes his eyes again and breathes, and he's able to relax his fist as he exhales. He shakes out his hand and rubs at his fingers. “I'm just pissed off.”

“I can see that,” Oswald mumbles. He can't seem to look away from Jim's wringing hands. “I haven't seen you like that in a long time.”

“Sorry,” Jim says.

“Me too,” Oswald is quick to reply. “It's,” he raises a hand helplessly and lets it slap against his leg. “None of this is what I pictured. It's stressful.”

“I can’t believe I scared Ed,” Jim groans.

“I certainly didn't help matters.” Oswald glances back at the sink with regret. “I don't really think you're a slob.”

“You know we're just teasing you when we say you're like your mom, right?” Oswald shrugs one arm and focuses on the floor. “So you’re particular. It’s not a big deal.”

“I do worry I’ll hover like she always did,” Oswald says. “That’s all.”

“Like we’d ever let you got that far without saying something.” His attempt at a smile is more a grimace, but Oswald appears placated by the gesture. “Why don't you find Ed and we can figure out something fun to do.”

“You should find him,” Oswald says.

“Okay,” Jim agrees. He shifts his weight a few times before closing the gap between him and Oswald to pull him into a hug. “We need to find you an outlet for stress that isn't transforming into your mother.”

“You're the worst,” Oswald grumbles against Jim's shirt.

“I'm kidding,” he laughs. “Mostly. I do think you need a hobby.”

“I'll consider it,” he says. He's dodging Jim's concerns, but also sounds at least a little sincere. He drops his arms and shoves at Jim's chest. “Now go find Ed before he finds some strange place to hide away in.”

“He's not a cat.” But Jim smirks at the thought. He crosses the room and opens the door, and startles when he finds Ed standing in the doorway, poised to grab at the knob. “Oh.”

Ed wipes at his wet, blotchy, red face and sniffs. “You're, um,” he chews on his lip, “I just-”

“Sorry,” Jim interrupts, and he pulls Ed over the threshold and into a hug.

-

There's a loud creak from Jim's loft and he jolts upright in time to find Oswald standing on his ladder. He blinks a few times and reaches for the small shelf by his head and grabs his phone, squinting at the bright screen as it lights up with 2:33 AM in bright white numbers. “Ozzie, what the hell?”

“Ed can't sleep,” Oswald says. “These beds are too narrow. I was just surveying to see if it was also the case with yours.”

“Seems like it,” Jim sighs. “They're not really made for two people.”

“They're hardly made for one,” Oswald groans. “I don't think this is going to work like we hoped.”

He fiddles with the top ring of Jim's ladder, frowning down at the bed unhappily. Jim sits up and turns so he can tug Oswald onto the mattress and then back so he's lying on his back with Oswald on his chest. “I don't think this will work all night,” he says. He pets Oswald’s hair as an apology and clumsily maneuvers his free hand until it's laced with Oswald’s. “Is Ed asleep?”

“I hope so,” Oswald says. He cranes his neck over the guard rail and peers over at Ed's bed, but he shrugs. “I can't see him. Maybe that's a good sign.”

“He likes to burrow.”

“I think I need to find an apartment,” Oswald blurts out. Jim's hand stills in his hair. “A  _ real  _ one. Not just the cover place.”

“Ed won't be happy,” Jim says.

“I think you and I can agree this was a pipe dream from the start.” Jim doesn't agree aloud, but he doesn't protest Oswald's claim either. “I'm not going to impede either of your studies by trying to share these lofted beds, so unless you have a better idea-”

“Air mattress?” Jim takes a stab. Oswald blinks. “I know it's not great but-”

Oswald launches himself forward and kisses him, and Jim holds him in place with a firm hand at the back of his head.

-

“It isn't very wide,” Ed says as he delicately handles the uninflated air mattress. “Is it supposed to be this small?”

“It's a  _ twin, _ ” Oswald says. There are circle under his eyes, but he doesn't sound as tired as he looks. He makes a grabby hand and Ed gives him the mattress. As he starts using the hand pump to inflate it he continues. “It's  _ supposed  _ to be for camping.”

“Who uses an air mattress to go camping?” Jim says from his desk chair.

“I would.” Oswald pauses his pumping, letting what little air he's added escape with a tiny hiss, and gives Jim a  _ look _ . “I will not set foot on a campsite if I won't get a good night's rest. I require a  _ bed _ .”

“So I'll get a mattress to throw in the back of my pick-up,” Jim says.

Oswald makes a disgusted face. “No thank you.”

“I’ve never been camping,” Ed muses. He squats down to add a few pumps of air into the mattress and watches it puff up, and then lets the air release. “Have either of you?”

“My old house bordered a treeline,” Oswald says. “I suppose sitting outside on the deck was close.”

“It was not,” Jim scoffs. He leans back in his rolling chair and props his legs up on his desk. “I did a couple times with my dad.”

“Did you use a mattress?” Ed asks. Oswald swats his leg, but Ed doesn’t pick up on his nonverbal queues. “What?”

“We used sleeping bags in a tent,” Jim says. Ed’s lack of candor doesn’t appear to have phased him. “I’ll take you sometime if you want.”

“No thank you,” Ed says, somewhat distracted when an alarm going off across the room. He crosses to his desk and stares down at his phone, swiping a couple times and frowning. “I have to leave for class.”

“First day is always easy,” Jim says. He beckons Ed over with a lazy wave and gently tugs at his collar until he gets the idea and leans down for a kiss. “We’ll meet at the dining center for dinner, kay?”

“And bring a granola bar,” Oswald tells him. He rummages through the bottom drawer of Ed’s closet and chucks one at Ed; he doesn’t catch it and it plops against his chest before falling to the floor. Ed picks it up and pockets it despite its now damaged state. “Don’t skip lunch either.”

“I won’t.” Ed smiles at Jim, and waits patiently by the door until Oswald relents and gets up with a dramatic groan to cross the room and send Ed off with a kiss of his own.

Jim waits until the door has shut and about twenty seconds have passed before speaking. “Do you still think you’re going to go apartment hunting?”

“Eventually,” Oswald says with a sigh. He returns to his air mattress and starts filling it again. “I’m going to look close to campus. Then I can justify it by saying I’m just preparing for the day when you two losers grow tired of lofted beds and want to share a king with me.”

“A king huh?” Oswald nods with determination. “Sounds like a pretty sweet upgrade.”

“It will be.”

Jim sits back and watches Oswald struggle with the air pump, then shakes his head sadly and taps Oswald on the shoulder to get him to move over. He takes over and starts pumping at high speed until the mattress is inflated and Oswald is left sitting in a petulant slump and grumbling.

“Showoff,” he calls Jim, and bumps his shoulders into his legs for good measure. “You're in  _ track _ . Why do you need strong arms?”

“Trained for shot put this summer,” he says, flexing one bicep and leaning in to let Oswald feel the muscle. He does after some reluctance, and fails to hide the way his eyebrows raise. “Might start doing it competitively.”

“I suppose it helps to have someone to do the heavy lifting.” Oswald stares at Jim's arms for a few more seconds, falling into a sort of daze, but he comes back around, shaking his head to bring himself back to focus. “I'm not really made for manual labor.”

“No,” Jim exclaims sarcastically. “You look so buff and strong.”

“I look like a  _ bird _ ,” Oswald laughs. “I think I weigh a hundred pounds.”

“Sounds about right,” Jim says. He drops down behind Oswald and brackets him with his legs. Then drags him back until he can rest his chin on his left shoulder. “I thought you had to work.”

“I just finished a placement on Friday,” he says. He trails his fingers across Jim's forearms in lazy circles. “And today I have a half day of orientation.”

“Doesn't sound too bad.”

“It's for second shift. Something like noon to eight, or maybe one to nine.” He takes in a deep breath when Jim squeezes him and lets it out slowly. “I'll be honest, I'm looking forward to the day when this year is just a faint memory.”


	6. There's a bittersweet feeling when you find out you're right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original chapter 6 was always meant to be chapter 7, but I got stuck in a rut on this one for awhile, and linearity isn't vital to this kind of au.

Nora is lounging on the couch in Victor's dorm room, humming to herself as she reads a school book and fills out a study sheet. Across the room Victor is at his desk with his headphones on and a podcast of one of his classes on one screen, and an online worksheet open on the other. Occasionally he leaps forward to type a few words into one of the text boxes, but for the most part he's just watching.

His phone screen lights up and Victor tilts it forward enough to read the message from Jonathan as it flashes across his screen.  _ Outside u in _ , no question mark.

“It's open,” he calls out to the room. He pauses his podcast and slides his headphones back to rest on his neck and turns to Nora. “We have a guest.”

“I wondered,” she says. She's grinning, and keeps her smile warm and inviting as Jonathan opens the unlocked door and shuffles into the room. “Hello,” she says, and he freezes in place.

“You remember Nora,” Victor tells him. Jonathan jerks his head down once in agreement but keeps his distance. “She's just studying.”

“Here,” Jonathan fills in the blank. “Why.”

“My roommate is using a new perfume,” Nora says, ignoring his blunt rudeness. “I'm allergic, but my RA isn't back from class to help sort it out.”

“I don't make her break out in hives,” Victor says.

“And his couch is comfortable.”

“I have to be good for something,” he shrugs. “There's room for two.”

After he says this Nora pulls her bag off the end of the couch and swings her legs down to the floor. She pats the unoccupied cushion with her hand and Jonathan, after another half minute of contemplation, accepts the spot. He drops his bag to the floor by his feet and leans so he's cradled in the corner made by the arm and the back.

He falls asleep there not long after the room maintains a calm quiet while Nora and Victor work. Later that afternoon, once Nora is done packing her things into her bag and Victor is in the middle of another podcast, she quietly tiptoes over to Victor and taps him on the shoulder. He glances up at her with a smile, and then follows the line of her finger as she points to his sleeping guest. Victor chuckles as he pauses and moves his headphones off his head.

“I don't think he's ever  _ not  _ fallen asleep here,” Victor whispers. “Guess I'm just that boring.”

“He feels safe,” she says. He nods. “I really should get to my class.”

“I still think you should do what I do,” he says. “Lecture halls are the worst.”

“I'm in this class with friends,” she sighs. She leans down to kiss his forehead, and he reaches up, craning his neck until she relents and leans down again so he can kiss her. “Maybe you could take a class with Ed.”

“Did that. Speech sucked.” He pulls his headphones off and sets them on his desk. “He's in the lecture for this one,” he points to the screen where a professor is explaining chemical reactions. “Sometimes we do the homework together.”

“Just don't be too much of a hermit,” she pleads. “It's a nice dorm but I don't think I'd want to live here forever.”

“Fair,” he grins. “I'll get food with the kid.” He stretches back one arm followed by the next, exposing his stomach, which Nora is quick to exploit with a brush of her fingers. It's not a tickle, but it's obviously the threat of one, and he curls in to protect his middle. “I was going to offer to beat up your roommate if she doesn't stop fucking with your asthma but you can forget that now.”

“I think that's for the best,” she says, placating him with a pat to his shoulder. He stops pouting and uncurls. “See you later.”

“See you.” He pats his hand over his chest, and she does the same before pulling her bag onto her back and her face mask from the pocket of her sweater, and then she's out the door and Victor is left with one softly snoring high school student for company.

He returns to his podcasts and homework, idly filling in information as he listens and sparing glances to Jonathan, who despite being sound asleep has somehow figured out he can stretch out across the whole couch instead of being crammed into the corner. One of his arms is slung over the arm in a way that can't be comfortable, but he continues to sleep, face pressed into a pillow and glasses bent up and out of shape.

When his last podcast ends he pulls off his headphones, sets them on the corner of his desk, and stretches back until his back pops audibly. Jonathan continues sleeping, undisturbed by the sound or Victor moving around the room as he finds a different shirt to change into and slips on his tennis shoes without untying them.

“Hey,” Victor whispers, placing a hand on Jonathan's shoulder and keeping it there when he jumps from the contact. “C’mon, I know you haven't eaten either. Nearest dining center closes in about an hour.”

-

Victor has his feet in one chair and his bag in another, and across from him at the small table in the mezzanine Jonathan is blinking tiredly at his bowl of mass prepared stir fry. Victor grabs a single piece of popcorn chicken and gently lobs it at him, and it bounces off his glass and skitters off the table. Jonathan glares up at him and takes a petulant bite of his food, and continues to glare as he chews.

“You're dazing out,” he says. “A lot.”

“I'm tired.”

“Guessing you aren't sleeping very well.”

Jonathan shrugs. “I sleep fine on your couch.”

“I noticed.” He picks up a fry and drags it through some Dijon mustard before shoving the entire thing in his mouth. “Dad's been giving you hell?”

“Dad's been dad,” he snaps, and leaves it at that, though there's a healthy blush to his cheeks now and he's breathing harsh and fast through his nose.

Victor nods and turns his attention elsewhere, namely his plate of food and the messages he's been accumulating since he sat down. He taps his mother's number and starts reading the paragraph she sent him ten minutes ago.

_ Your father and I do not appreciate your lack of attention to important networking opportunities. _ He rolls his eyes and eats another fry, munching away as he continues to read.  _ Because you neglected to keep us informed during your first year of college I've had my assistant keep tabs on the various activities offered by Gotham University. It seems that this coming weekend, not only being parents weekend, is also hosting a luncheon on Sunday the program refers to as the Maths and Sciences Faculty and Student Conference. Your father has an appointment with a client, but I've made room in my schedule in order to attend with you. Make a point of checking your attitude if you think dressing down for this event is something you can get away with. _

Jonathan breaks the silence caused by Victor's concentration while he's mid chew. “You look pissed.”

“My mom's texting me. What the hell is the ‘Maths and Sciences Faculty and Student Conference’?”

Jonathan shrugs. “I'm in high school. How would I know?”

“Good point.” He taps on Nora's contact and bypasses reading her messages about her appointment in order to ask.  _ Hey, do you know what the Maths and Sciences Faculty and Student Conference is??? _ And he adds a fourth question mark before sending.

“It sounds stupid.”

“If my mom's insisting I go to it it probably is.” He sets his phone to his left on the table and returns his focus to his food. “I thought maybe your dad would know or go to it or whatever.”

“He's not social.”

“Ah,” Victor nods. He's about to eat another fry when his phone lights up, and he picks it up to read Nora's reply.

_ Are you going to it? _

_ My mom's hounding me about networking. _ He adds,  _ so I guess you could say yes. _

_ I don't really know _ , is her rapid response, and then,  _ but my advisor called it an opportunity for helicopter parents to hover over their adult children's shoulders. _

“Well that sounds about right,” he mutters. He opens up a web browser on his phone and types in the name of the event. The more he reads and scrolls the more his brow creases, and something dawns on him, draining all the color from his cheeks. He drops his feet to the floor and grabs his backpack, taking a moment to drop his keys in front of Jonathan before rushing out of the mezzanine, ignoring a peal of confused exclamations coming from the young man he's left at the table.

-

He's sitting in a small practice room with soundproofing on the walls and the school's drum set in the center of the room. Victor swipes through songs on his phone and puts it on the floor to his left once he's selected one, and after a few beats he starts drumming hard and fast, following along with the music in his headphones.

There's a small commotion outside his practice room; a few muffled voices get a bit louder and more punctuated, so he continues on unbothered, until the door to the room starts opening. He's halfway through a snarled demand for privacy until he notices it's Ed coming through the door.

“What.”

“Um,” Ed slips in the rest of the way, ignoring the way Victor's eye twitches, and he lets it shut behind him. “Well, the second chair clarinet is complaining about you monopolizing the practice room.”

“She's always saying that.”

“Yes, well,” Ed frets with the cuffs of his zip up jacket, “the log says you signed in at seven, and it's,” he pauses and pulls back his sleeve to look at his watch, “nearly ten.”

“Fuck,” Victor breathes. He sets down his sticks on the stool and starts rubbing his hands. “Guess that explains a few things.” He rubs his red rimmed, bloodshot eyes with one thumb and forefinger.

“You look like you've been crying,” Ed says, and Victor throws one of his sticks at the far wall. “Sorry! Sorry, that was-”

“Don't,” Victor whispers. He closes his eyes and takes several deep breaths. “Don't apologize,” he finally says. “Sorry. It's not you, it's my fucking parents.”

“Oh.”

Victor turns to face Ed fully and his angry stance settles into a sad droop when he sees Ed's cowering in the corner by the door. Ed attempts to straighten once he's been seen, and he sidesteps out of the door’s arc when Victor walks over to the small table with his backpack and mallet bag. He puts the mallet bag into his backpack without bothering to collect his drumsticks and motions for Ed to follow him as he leaves the practice room, glaring at their bandmate as he strides past.

He glances back at Ed, who's maintaining a good five feet between them. “I'm mad at my parents, not at you.”

“Okay,” Ed says, still a bit shaky. “Where are we going?”

“Late night cafe across campus. That okay?” He glances back just as Ed starts nodding. “Remember when I used to pretend I was getting tutored by you?”

“Ah,” Ed hums, “you want to vent.”

“That cool?” Victor turns his head; Ed nods. “Good. Thanks.”

Victor leads the way across campus to the late night dining center under some of the newer dorms built on the east side of the campus. He tries to pay for himself and Ed, but he slaps his card on top of Victor’s before he can gesture to the student worker to take off two meals.

“The college gives me too many,” Ed whispers as they pass through the entryway, walk past a few scattered couples and groups in the main area, and claim a small table near the windows. “Oswald uses it too and I still have extra.”

“I know the feeling.” He drops his bag into the chair and cracks his neck, sighing with satisfaction after the loud pop. “I think my parents are tricked by the part where they label the plans gold, silver, and bronze, like gold has to be the best.”

“Do you think that's true?”

“No,” he sighs, “but I don't like giving them credit.” he pauses for a few seconds. “So are you actually hungry?”

Ed glances at the small sampling of late night food still available, all of it hardy but easy to make and maintain. There's a tea bar and an ice cream machine with dozens of toppings, plus a self serve noodle bar with some bull bought but still decent looking noodles, plus some sauces.

“I was going to get a noodle bowl,” he says.

Victor opens his mouth to reply, but a loud gurgle from his stomach interrupts him and he huffs out a laugh. “Guess I'll have one too.”

They both load up bowls with noodles and sauces, not speaking but keeping a close proximity to each other as they navigate through the steady stream of late night eaters and various staff. Victor gets himself a glass of ice water and Ed chooses milk, and then the two of them return to their table and spend a minute or two in complete silence aside from scrapes from their forks and the occasional loud breath.

Victor opts to break the silence. “So how'd you know where to find me?”

“I didn't,” Ed says around a bite. He swallows before continuing. “Nora requested I help locate you. I think maybe you should text her,” Ed presses.

“I know,” Victor sighs, “but I don't know what to say.”

“Oh, well, maybe the truth?”

“Sure.” Victor pulls his phone from his pocket and clears all his notifications. He sends Nora a single text,  _ at the late night cafe with Ed. Figuring some shit out. _

_ I'll be in your dorm _ . His thumbs hover over the keys for a bit longer, but he closes the app and puts his phone away without sending anything else.

“How'd she know where I was?”

Ed shakes his head. “She didn't either, but she asked me to check the band room.” He keeps twirling fork, a nervous habit, but when a noodle leaps from his bowl and into the table he sets it in the bowl and clasps his hands together. “Only music students can enter the building after hours. I assume it's a theft deterrent. It's easier to pinpoint a culprit between a couple hundred students rather than thousands.”

“Okay.”

“Jonathan actually texted her,” Ed says, and Victor's eyebrows shoot up. “She CC’ed me, something along the lines of you having disappeared during dinner. From what I can tell he hypothesized that something was wrong with her since you left so fast.”

“Huh,” Victor leans back in his chair. “I didn't think he really liked her that much. He's hardly says two words to her.”

“I think,” Ed muses, tapping his fingers together, “I think that isn't because he doesn't like Nora. I can't imagine someone not liking her. I think it's more likely that he's shy.”

Victor nods in agreement a few times. “You're doing a lot better, you know that?”

“Oh,” Ed blinks, “thank you?”

“I mean it.”

“I assumed you did.” Ed tips his head to the side until it rests on his hand. “What do you mean exactly?”

“Dunno, but your whole,” he gestures in a circle at Ed, “all of you, I guess.”

“I suppose I've gotten more confident,” Ed muses. “I have completed a year of school. The setting is familiar to me.”

“And been away from your parents for a year.” Ed shrinks back a bit, retreating into the neck of his sweatshirt. “I don't think that's a bad thing. I kind of envy you.”

“Okay.” Ed's expression is pleading, eyes hard but watery, and Victor surrenders, holding up a hand and using the other to get another forkful of noodles. Ed speaks in a rush, body hunched over and voice barely a whisper. “I see the school's therapist once a week. She's a good listener.”

Victor regards Ed for a bit, taking in his hinting expression, but he shakes his head. “I know I should, but I’m scared my dad will badger her into telling him I'm seeing her. They're old classmates, and he wouldn't like me seeing her without his permission.”

“Oh.” Ed runs his fingers through the condensation on his glass and looks out the window at the lamplight lit path leading down towards central campus. He looks a bit lost for a moment, and Victor finishes his bowl of noodles while Ed faded out for a little while. “You haven't started venting yet,” he says without looking in Victor's direction.

“I was hoping you'd forget,” he says, sarcastic but only just, and Ed turns back, head cocked to the side with confusion. “I wish it was more complicated than it is. My parents are going to murder me.”

“Oh,” Ed makes a face and huffs. “Did you do something?”

“Wow, thanks,” he deadpans, and in his normal, if a bit morose voice, “sort of. It's more like something I didn't do. My parents are being really particular about the college experience they're angling for me to have.”

“I thought you did well?”

“3.88. It's not your 4.0 though.” Ed's cheeks pink up but he keeps nodding along. “They are kind of pissed about that, actually, but not as much as they will be about this.”

“You seem rather calm, considering your eventual demise.”

“I think I've just accepted my fate.” He runs his hands up over his face and into his hair, and leaves his head bowed in his hands. “They're really big on networking. And I know they have a point, it's important, but my mom is going to figure out I'm not my professors' favorite student during parents’ weekend and then she's going to murder me.”

“Um,” Ed hums, and Victor glances up when his pause extends to an awkward silence. Ed's chewing on his lip, and Victor nods to him. “Why aren't you?” Ed blurts out. “I mean-”

“I know.” Victor rubs his eyes, and holds his fingers there for a few seconds. They come away a bit wet, but his face is dry. “I'm in the online sections. They don't know that either. They're expecting me to go to every single office hour session my professors have. I've been to one.”

“Hence your theory that your time alive is dwindling.”

Victor nods. “How hard is it to break a leg?”

“Uh-”

“I just mean mine, like, if I'm in the hospital there's no reason for her to go, since I won't be there.” He drops his head onto the table, jostling their silverware and nearly tipping his water glass, but Ed lunges forward and keeps it from spilling. “That was sort of a joke.”

“I would hope so,” Ed says. “So, what happens when she finds out?”

“She yells," he raises his head from the table, "and then she tells my dad and he does more than yell.” Ed's face softens with sympathy; Victor has to look away before he continues. “And then they either make me live at home and police my entire college career until it looks the way they want it to, or they cut me off completely.”

His face tightens, contorting with an angry, stricken energy, and he covers his eyes with one hand. Ed sits by in silence, slowly turning his glass around and glancing up at Victor to see if he's recovered.

“It's not that I won't take a loan,” he croaks, face still hidden. “It's just, they won't just stop paying for my classes. It'll be everything. I have some scholarships but it's not the whole thing.” He peeks up at Ed. “What's it like having a full ride?”

“Terrifying,” Ed mumbles. “I'm worried I'll let them down and they'll regret letting me come here on their dime.”

“They don't regret it,” Victor assures him. Ed smiles briefly. “So, yeah, that's it I guess. I might have to be financially independent sooner than I thought.”

“I know you probably wouldn't accept,” Ed starts, “but Oswald has found a one bedroom apartment close to the campus. If he knew more about your situation I'm sure he'd offer you some space himself.”

“I'm more worried they'll try to pull me out of school. Thanks though.”

“Of course,” Ed says. “What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Well,” Victor says as he stands, “for now I'm going to go make an irresponsibly large sundae and eat it until I feel regret.”

“Ah.”

“You want anything?”

“I'll just get some tea,” and Ed stands up himself. “I may be lactose intolerant.”

“Pity.”

-

There's a distinct distention of Victor's stomach, which he holds gingerly as he rides the elevator up to his dorm room. He fumbles around with his pockets for the entire walk to his door before swearing under his breath, but he reaches out for the handle and groans with relief when it's unlocked.

Inside the first thing he sees is Nora, and she hops up and skip-runs over to him, dragging him into a hug he returns but also laments. “Nora don’t squeeze so hard,” he whines even though he does nothing to encourage their separation. “I ate too much ice cream.”

“You always do,” she sighs. She releases him and holds out a hand until he gives her his backpack, and she leads him over to the couch and makes him sit down. When Victor sits he looks up at his bed, and the sight of Jonathan sprawled out on top of his covers, out cold, drags a startled laugh out of him.

“Isn't it a school night?”

“He was worried,” Nora says. She flops down on the other half of the couch and rests her head on Victor's leg. “So was I.”

“I know, I'm sorry.” He plays with a few of her curls with one hand, letting her hold the other in both of hers. “I think I'm going to get cut off.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I think it was inevitable. It'll be okay, eventually." He tips his head onto her shoulder. "Want to room together? I'm not paying for this dorm if it's going to drown me in student loans. Also, you know.”

“I do, and yes, I would," she says, smiling. She continues playing with his fingers and threads them together with hers. “But maybe we should wait to see if you're right about being cut off first before making too many plans.”

“Okay.” He looks back up at Jonathan and sighs. “So is he going to move or do I have to let him have my bed tonight?”

-

It's midday. Victor's fan is oscillating as it cools the room, and the TV is playing something but the sound is muted. Nora is lying across the entirety of the couch, and Victor is crammed between her and the couch back so his head is resting against her shoulder. He's distressed, and Nora keeps getting his hair while he listens to it ring.

“What do I do if she doesn't answer?” He shifts so his chin is on her shoulder and he can see her face.

“Don't leave a message,” she says softly. “Why wouldn't she answer?”

“She does stuff, I don't know,” he whispers, and the ring cuts off abruptly when his call is answered. “Mom?”

“Victor, I'm in the middle of a meeting.”

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s quick. I'm not going to the conference tomorrow.”

His mother scoffs loudly, and he can hear her heels clicking loudly in whatever space she's walking in. “Victor, this is a networking opportunity. How do you expect to get into medical school if you don't have good references?”

“I won't,” he blurts out, startling his mom into silence. “I don't go to my professors’ office hours.”

“Victor-!”

“I do online lectures too,” he interrupts. “They’re-” his voice keeps getting louder and louder, and his mom is silent. Nora rubs the back of his neck and he settles down. “They're just weed out classes. There's hundreds of students. And-and I'm not applying for medical school,” he keeps going in a rush to keep her from interrupting, “I want to do research. And if you say no I'll get some shitty, small dorm and the bare essentials and whatever loans they'll throw at me. I don't need your approval, or your help.”

He holds his breath, hearing the harsh breathing right up against the receiver, and then it clicks. He moves his phone away from his ear. “She hung up on me.”

-

The end of fall term finals brings a startling quiet to the dorms after a hectic last week of papers and tests. Victor fills a single rolling suitcase with clothes and a few books, plus a small laptop bag with his computer and related paraphernalia. Nora is sitting on his couch with her own bag at her feet and her phone in her hand. She's exchanging texts with her family, and she glances up at Victor on occasion to smile at him as he finishes packing.

“They're really fine with it,” she says. Victor shrugs. “My parents like you.”

“Yeah but your dad is going to give me that talk about not betraying their generosity or something by, I don't know, defiling you.” Nora snorts and he smirks at her. “I got a letter from my mom.”

“An actual letter?” Nora asks. Victor gestures to a small stack of mail on his desk. “She still hasn't called you?”

“Or texted. It's kind of terrifying but also, I don't know,” he shrugs. “Maybe she's just pissed I didn't talk to her in person.”

“Are you going to open it?”

“I thought about burning it,” he admits. “I will, just let me finish packing a bag.”

He returns to his pile of shirts and jeans, and Nora lounges back against the arm of the couch. “My dad really does like you.”

“I know,” Victor says. “But you're his daughter. There's some macho code built into dads with girls.”

Nora shakes her head fondly. She texts her dad,  _ he's expecting some sort of scare talk from you so make it good :) _ .

Victor finishes packing his bag and turns towards his desk, but he doesn't approach the letter. Nora waits patiently while he continues to stall, but when he turns back towards his bag she sighs. “Maybe it's better to just get it out of the way.”

“I'm kind of scared she's figured out how to, I don't know, reverse my acceptance.” He crosses the room and picks up the letter, which is thin and professional looking with two sticker labels for the addresses instead of hand written. He tears into it and sets the envelope on his desk and starts reading the brief series of sentences composing a single, professional sounding declaration.

“They're,” Victor chokes on his words and shakes his head. “They're going to pay my tuition, room and board, and my meal plan. No course fees.”

“That's the whole note?” Nora asks. Victor shrugs, hut also walks over and hands it to her. She skims it quickly, frowning down at the terse phrasing. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Victor shakes his head. He covers his eyes either his thumb and forefinger.

“Why?”

“I don't know,” he whines. He drops his hand, blinking fast when his eyes well up. “Can-” he huffs- “can we just go?”


	7. It's not all rainbows and roses, or however the saying goes

“Jim you're going to be  _ late _ ,” Oswald tuts from across the kitchen, where he's standing by the coffee maker and watching as his mug begins to fill with hot, caffeinated liquid. He's dressed for an office job (a button down with a form fitting vest and matching tie) and reading the morning paper.

“It's only warmups,” Jim scoffs as he drops into a dining room chair and starts tying his running shoes. “And it's not even a real meet. It's a practice meet, or something like that.”

“An exhibition,” Ed pipes up from his place across the table from Jim. He's spooning mouthful after mouthful of instant oatmeal into his mouth while ticking away at his laptop. He's the only one not dressed for the day, and his hair is still mussed from sleep. “What time does it start?”

“Ten minutes ago,” Oswald snaps.

“That’s just when the track opens for warm-ups. The meet starts at nine,” Jim says. He glares up at Oswald and stands once his shoes are both tied. “You realize it's the Halloween meet, right? Like, two thirds of the team is going to be in full costume. It's just for fun.”

“I don't want you getting  _ hurt _ ,” Oswald sniffs, and Jim's hard expression softens, “after you rolled your ankle-”

“Okay,” Jim submits, hands up until he's in front of Oswald, rubbing circles into his shoulders with his thumbs. “I'm jogging to the track,” he explains, “and I'm doing stretches once I'm there.”

“You better,” he snaps, but without any actual ire. Jim kisses him and reaches around Oswad to snag his mug of coffee and take a gulp of the hot liquid. He sticks the mug in Oswald's hands and winks before he gets beyond a single appalled gasp. He trots over to Ed for a drive-by kiss before he's rushing out the door.

“Did he just steal my coffee!?”

“Just a drink,” Ed says. “I hope he didn't burn his tongue.” (“Well I hope he  _ did _ .”) He scrapes his spoon through the last bit of oatmeal in his bowl and sticks the bite in his mouth. Oswald shakes off the lingering shock from his expression, adds a bit of half and half to his mug, and snags a granola bar from the small basket by the fridge before crossing the kitchen and sitting across from Ed. “Why are you dressed for work?”

“Because I'm going to work,” Oswald says.

“It's Saturday,” Ed says, head tipping to the side in a curious tilt. “Right? I'm not late-”

“No, it's Saturday, but they offered me something I couldn't refuse,” he sighs. “Overtime, which I am normally not entitled to, and it's double my usual hourly pay. All I have to do is sort through a backlog of receipts, but it needs completed by Monday.”

“Oh,” Ed dips his chin down and fiddles with the trackpad of his laptop, drawing a single, sad circle over and over again with the pad of his finger. “So you're missing the meet.”

“I was hoping you'd take some pictures if you saw anything interesting.” Oswald says lightly, but his aloof facade crumbles when Ed blinks over at him sadly. “It doesn't have any effect on his record.”

“It'll be fun,” Ed counters softly.

“Do  _ you  _ think it will be fun?”

Ed shrugs. “But Jim will have fun,” he says. “It's nice to see that.”

“You make me sound like a boring monster,” Oswald teases. Ed isn't amused. “Look,” he says while switching to a chair closer to Ed, “I know it's not ideal, but you're both in school, and busy. You hardly have any time to work in the lab, and Jim's in track. I just,” he takes Ed's hand to stop him from fussing with his cuticles. Ed looks up at him, blinking sadly. “You're not going to convince me to call in sick. I'm doing this voluntarily because with everything else the two of you are doing I don't want money to add to your stress. This will give us a bit more of a cushion for luxuries, or at least not giving Jim an excuse to survive off instant ramen.”

Ed's mouth quirks up in one side. “He does love it though.”

“He has horrible taste,” Oswald sniffs, and his haughty tone is what makes Ed grin wide. “Don't you patronize me you  _ know  _ he's a disaster.”

“I'll take the photos,” Ed says instead of agreeing.

“If we're well coordinated I can sneak away for a bit and you can video chat me his races.” Ed nods, and Oswald leans in for a quick kiss and runs his fingers through Ed’s bedhead. “Go get ready. I'll get going so I stop distracting you.”

-

Oswald stares out in dismay at the sea of copy paper boxes littering a small table in the records room of an office. He gulps only once and straightens his tie before grabbing a box and getting to work.

“We'll order in lunch for everyone,” his supervisor says as she peeks her head into the records room. “I really can't thank you enough for volunteering, Oswald. I hate to have to make these shifts mandatory.”

“It isn't a problem,” he shoots back, all cheeky smiles and just a bit of strain around the corners of his eyes. “Really, I'm happy to help, and getting a bit of overtime doesn't hurt.”

“You'd think that would be enough to entice most people,” she says wistfully. “You can put on music or stream something if you like. I know this work isn't that exciting.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he says, and as she slips away to do her own work he digs his phone out and opens up his video chat app. “Thank God for reasonable supervisors.”

Ed doesn’t pick up and Oswald lets the app idle while he starts sorting through the first of several boxes filled with haphazard and crumpled receipts. He’s made several stacks of varying heights by the time his phone screen lights up with a photo of Ed smiling so wide it’s reached his eyes. Oswald accepts the video call and props the phone up against one of the box sides. He’s greeted by another smiling Ed, though his hair is longer than it was in the photo and he’s changed out his glasses for a newer pair.

“Sorry, I was in the shower.”

“That’s fine,” Oswald sighs tiredly. He raises the corners of his mouth up briefly and looks back down at his work. “I just wanted to vent a little. I’m definitely not getting done before the meet. My supervisor is planning on getting lunch for anyone in the office today.”

“Lot of work to do?” Ed asks. As an answer Oswald picks up his phone and shows Ed the boxes. “Oh dear.”

“I have a feeling I understand a little better why they wanted a temp replacement while they found a new employee to do this particular position.” He adds another gas station receipt to the stack and grabs another handful out of the box. “Are you at the meet?”

Ed shakes his head. “I’m walking over now. I tried to leave earlier but Jim texted me. He forgot his water bottle.”

“You spoil him,” Oswald teases. Ed raises a brow and Oswald waves him off. “Yes, I know, don’t point out the obvious. I’ll let you get over there. Be sure to video message me when Jim starts running. I want to watch someone dressed as a clown kick his ass.”

“I’ll record it,” Ed says, and he glances away from his phone to somewhere offscreen. “I have an opportunity to catch the bus and I’m going to take it. See you later.”

“Have fun,” Oswald says, and he ends the call so he can focus on his receipts. He takes a moment to text Jim,  _ I can’t make it to your meet. _

_ Ed told me. It’s okay. There’s always next year. _

-

There’s one box completely empty on the floor beside the table, and another mostly emptied in Oswald’s lap. He grabs one last giant handful and tosses the empty box to the side, crying out in triumph before he starts sorting them into the existing piles.

A video call lights up his phone screen, and Oswald accepts the call and Ed’s bright and cheery face fills his screen. “Hey Oswald.”

“Remind me to not accept any offers to work here full time. If this,” he waves a hand at the boxes, “is an indicator of how well they run then I don’t want any part of it after this contract ends.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Double pay,” Oswald says, although it sounds like he’s told himself the same thing countless times. “It’s double pay, and I should be done today at,” he trails off, “sometime. I’ll be home for dinner.”

“You can pick,” Ed says, and then he glances up from his screen and back down. “Jim’s starting.”

He flips the camera around and Oswald gets a view of the track from about six bleachers up. Students and the track participants are dressed up in various levels of Halloween costumes. The camera jostles around a bit as Ed moves, and then Jim waves from the track where he’s standing between someone dressed as a banana and someone in classic 80’s wear.

“What is he  _ wearing _ ?” Oswald shrieks.

“Jim’s a uh,” Ed zooms in on Jim, “oh, I think he said something about Queen.”

“Is that a mustache?”

“A fake one,” Ed says. He flips the camera back around for a moment and shrugs. “You know, he could probably grow a real one. Jim’s facially gifted in a hairy way.”

“No thank you,” Oswald makes a face. “Maybe if he grew a beard with it.”

“They’re starting,” Ed says, and he turns the camera back around. Oswald leans in a bit closer to watch Jim bend over in the starting position. “I know it’s just an exhibition but I hope he does well.”

“Jim’s competitive nature is rubbing off on you,” Oswald says.

Through the garbled sound of Ed’s phone there’s a single loud whistle blast and Jim takes off, with the 80s man close on his heels and the banana falling behind due to the costume. They round the corner and start heading for the second long stretch when Jim stumbles a bit before catching himself, this time falling behind the other runner. He digs in and starts sprinting faster, gaining ground. The camera starts moving a bit as Ed’s excitement keeps him from being a steady cameraman, and then as Jim’s right foot hits the ground he falls and rolls, and the shout from his landing is loud enough to reach the stands.

“Jim!” Ed shouts and the camera jostles, images flitting past rapidly in a blur, and then Ed’s picture takes over the screen as the call ends.

Oswald lets out a low, shaky breath and grabs his phone. He shoves in his chair and rushes from the file room, leaving a flurry of receipts behind as the force of the door opening and shutting sends one of the stacks flying off the table.

-

Oswald bursts into the emergency room like he owns the place and barrels over to the front desk, demanding to know, “where is Jim Gordon!?”

And the nurse blinks at him a few times before straightening up and saying, “young man, this is the emergency room.”

“I,” he huffs, “I know that,” but there’s no more fight left in him. He turns his head to the side, but he freezes when he sees Ed across the room as he tries to burrow inside his sweatshirt hood. “Sorry,” he says to the nurse, and he strides over and flips Ed’s hood off his head, smiling down sadly when Ed looks up with shock. “Ed-”

“He just got here,” Ed breathes. “I, they let me ride with him, but they’re doing tests now. X-rays, I think.” He looks down at his hands and starts fussing with his phone. “His mother’s on the way. She had to leave her shift.”

“I did too. They’ll understand when it’s an emergency,” Oswald says. He pats Ed on the leg a bit to get him to move over on the loveseat and he claims the free cushion. “Did they say anything?”

“He blew out his knee,” Ed whispers. “I don’t know what that means exactly. Tendons, I think.”

“Will he need surgery?” Ed is still as a statue, and doesn’t respond. “Ed, I asked-”

“I lied, I’m sorry.” He bites his lip and looks up at Oswald. “I know what it means. I don’t know why I said I didn’t.”

Oswald rubs a hand across Ed’s shoulders. “It’s okay.”

“It’s just,” he shrinks down into the corner of the couch and Oswald scoots in a bit closer, leaning in to hear Ed’s hushed whispers. “It’s not a technical term. Yes, he will need surgery, but I don’t know what kind or how serious.”

Oswald nods in understanding. “And then recovery, right? How long does that take?”

“Months,” Ed says. “Several months.”

“So track isn’t,” Oswald trails off. “What about shot put? He was training for that too, right? Surely they can still use someone with a decent arm.”

Ed shrugs. “Maybe as a last resort, but his focus is-”

“Running.”

“Long distance, endurance. You’ve seen him throw. He’s alright, but he isn’t a strong contender.” Ed tips his head to the side until it rests against Oswald’s shoulder. “He’ll lose his scholarship.”

“I’d assume so,” Oswald sighs. “We’ll worry about that after we get through this, alright?”

-

“You really did a number on your knee,” Jim’s mom says. “Are you sure you stretched before the race?” She flips through her son’s file a few more times while he grumbles at her from his hospital bed. Ed and Oswald are both sitting in a pair of wooden desk chairs; Ed is resting his head on his arms on the edge of Jim’s mattress, and Oswald is scrolling through news articles on his phone. She looks up from the file and Jim avoids her eyes. “James Gordon, did you lie to your doctor, and by extension me?”

“No! I did stretch! I stretched with the whole team for like, a half hour.” He throws his head back against his pillows and groans. “Why can’t I have pain medication?”

“You can’t have  _ good  _ pain medication, honey,” she sighs. She drops his file into the slot on his bed and returns to the side of the bed not occupied by Oswald and Ed.

“But I want some,” he whines. “My knee really, really hurts.”

“Your surgery is less than an hour away, sweetheart,” she coos, and Jim’s in enough pain to let her coddle him and straighten his bangs. “You’ve been fasting since last night. You’re not taking something that will delay it now that the swelling is down.”

“Are you sure he can’t have anything?” Oswald asks, sounding very snotty. “Is it really so wrong for him to not be in pain?”

“He can have Tylenol,” Jim’s mom says. “Anything else would cause excessive bleeding during surgery.”

“Oh,” the fire in Oswald’s eyes dims. “Fine, that’s a good reason, I guess.”

“He’ll be plenty high  _ after _ his surgery,” she says lightly, but she’s holding Jim’s hand in a tight grip. The tired creases around her eyes shows just how stressful this is for her. “You don’t need to stick around, boys. I’m sure the two of you have something you’d rather be doing.”

“No,” Oswald scoffs. “I mean it. But,” he stands and pats a hand on Ed’s back, “if anyone wants something to eat or drink I was going to get a coffee.”

“I'm fine,” Jim's mother says. “Thank you Oswald.”

Oswald places a hand on Ed's back and asks softly, “do you want anything?” Ed raises his head long enough to shake it and drops his cheek onto his arms. Jim slides his fingers into Ed's hair and begins scratching his scalp.

As he steps into the hall Jim’s demand, “I want ice cream. That’s a thing in hospitals, right mom?”

“That’s after you get your tonsils out,” she says, “but we can get you some if that’s what you want.”

Oswald rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he walks down the hall towards the waiting room. There’s a complimentary pot of coffee, but Oswald bypasses it in favor of a vending machine that advertises dollar cups of either vanilla or hazelnut flavored coffee. Oswald finds a single somewhat intact dollar in his wallet and feeds it into the machine. He presses the vanilla button and starts glancing around while he waits for it to fill the cup, and he startles when he sees Victor Zsasz standing down the hall.

“Victor?” Oswald turns back to the machine when it beeps, and he grabs his drink before speed walking over to Zsasz. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm?” He turns his head towards Oswald in a slow, exaggerated swivel. There’s a tension in his jaw and shoulders, and every breath he takes is audible and harsh. “You’re here.”

“Um,” Oswald looks away and back again, “yes. Jim’s knee surgery is today. You aren’t,” he chuckles nervously, “Victor did you come here for Jim? He’s going to me amusing once he’s on Codeine but believe me, he’s quite the pill when he’s grumpy from pain.”

“Huh,” Zsasz shakes his head and rubs his fist over his right eye. “Didn’t know. Got my own shit going on.”

“Ah, I see.” Oswald takes one look at his coffee and sets it on the nearest surface. “What, exactly? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Boat accident.”

“A boat accident,” Oswald takes in Victor’s jeans and sweatshirt, his mesh tennis shoes, and his slightly disheveled but overall intact appearance. “You appear uninjured, so, oh, well,” Oswald trails off. “Your parents?”

“Yeah. It’s bad,” he says, voice flat and empty. “Real bad. Dad didn’t make it to the building. Mom’s still in surgery.”

“Oh, Victor I’m sorry, I,” he huffs and picks up his coffee in one hand and gets a handful of Victor’s sweatshirt in the other. “Just come with me. Don’t sit out here alone. Jim’s mom and Ed and I, well I can’t speak for Jim’s mother but we’ll sit with you.”


	8. Uncertainty is only a precursor to a plan

It's a warm, sunny day, with a gentle western breeze and thick, puffy clouds offering the occasional break from the bright sun. Jim's at a fair waiting in line at a barbeque stand and messing with his phone, only glancing up every so often when the person's back moves in front of him. When he's next in line he texts Oswald, and puts in an order for two meals, plus two giant sodas.

He finds a rare free picnic table near the center square and sits with one plate in front of him and the other across at the next seat. People mill around him at various paces, and the sound of all the chatter drowns out enough sound that he doesn't notice Oswald approach until he's already sitting.

“They didn't have bibs so you'll have to eat like a gentleman,” he says.

Oswald uses one of the many napkins to wipe his brow. While Jim is dressed in a tri-toned tank top and some shorts Oswald is in his business wear, silk vest and all. “You say that as if I eat like a  _ gremlin _ otherwise.”

“I do live with you,” Jim reminds him. Oswald rolls his eyes and moves on to eating his messy food. “Ed didn't want to come?”

“He’s supposed to be done at two,  _ and  _  he got a full hour for lunch. I'm stuck here until the building closes at seven.”

“Kind of surprised they let you go at all. I thought your booth was short staffed?”

“Oh, it is, but aren't they just so lucky the temp wanted time and a half?” Oswald groans and sucks down a third of his soda in one long pull. “Honestly, it's just  _ inhumane _ , expecting someone to successfully get something to eat during the busiest time of the fair in a half hour’s time.”

“Maybe they wanted you to bring a lunch,” Jim counters, though he's more focused on his food than the argument.

“Well then they should have provided a fridge,” Oswald sniffs. “And a break room. It is sweltering!”

“It's summer,” Jim reminds him, “and you could have worn a polo.”

“Jim I don't look  _ good  _ in a polo. I look good in this.”

“Yeah you do.”

“So no, I won't wear a polo if it sacrifices my appearance.” He takes another bite and ends up with sauce on his cheeks. “Remind me not to take this job ever again.”

“Aw come on. It got you free tickets to the fair,” Jim pouts. Oswald throws a balled up napkin in his face. “Fair booths are all about schmoozing people. You love to schmooze people.”

“Not  _ here _ ,” he hisses, “not in this  _ heat _ . Time and a half is not worth the stress this puts me through.” He chews on a thick cut fry and crosses his arms. “I do like the food.”

“And the food vouchers.”

“Yes, that too.” He swallows and finishes off his soda. “Have you gone by Ed's booth?”

“Haven't hit the education building yet. I've only been here for about an hour.”

“Oh, right,” he fidgets with the corner of another napkin. “How was physical therapy?”

“Fine,” Jim shrugs. “He still wants me to wear my brace during the day.” He taps two fingers against the top of his knee brace. “Mobility's up, but not strength. They kind of figured that would be the case though.”

Oswald nods. “And it doesn't hurt?”

“Not really. It's doing that old man thing when the weather changes but not from walking.”

“Good.” Oswald gathers the scraps of his food and dumps them on top of his empty plate. He uses one of the too-thin napkins to wipe up the mess on his face and adds it to the rest of his trash. “I'd love to just sit with you all day but I should be getting back.”

“I'll walk you,” Jim says, and he copies Oswald. They starts meandering through the crowd and Jim leads him through some of the less populated paths in the fair. “You really should get some short sleeved shirts, Ozzie.”

“Well  _ you  _ should reconsider your wardrobe if this monstrosity is one of your go to outfits.” He picks at the shoulder of Jim's tank top. “I hate to break this to you, darling, but you should not be wearing something that contains the same color as your flesh.”

“I think my grandma sent me this for my birthday.”

“The woman is not a fashion expert,” he sighs. “How did I let you out the door like this?”

“You didn't. I slept in.” He ducks between a pair of buildings and drags Oswald with him, gently pinning him against the metal side of one of the large warehouse buildings and running his hand over Oswald's blushing cheek. “You really do look good, Ozzie.”

“I,” he croaks, “I am  _ aware _ , but thank you.”

Jim kisses him and runs his hands all over Oswald's back and sides, hands trailing close to his pants line but never skirting past it. He tries to move in closer, but Oswald puts a hand on his chest and makes him step back.

“Later,” he says, patting Jim's pouting cheeks. “It really is too hot, Jim, and I need to work.”

“One more,” he mumbles, and he kisses Oswald once, but steps back after and gives him some space.

“I should get going,” Oswald says, though he doesn't move.

“I'll walk you,” he says, and that kick starts them both into moving out of the secluded space and to the bustling paths leading to the business building. On the way Oswald pulls out his phone, and he grumbles down at the message. “Is that Ed?”

“Zsasz,” he mutters, tapping out a reply as they walk. “He's here, but he's bored. I'm telling him you're here.”

“Gee thanks.” And then more sincerely, “how's he doing?”

“Eh,” Oswald shrugs. “I don't think he even knows, but he hasn't dropped out, so that's something.”

“Was he going to?”

“Only if I didn't knock some sense into him.  _ Gently _ , if you're at all concerned for his mental health, and it gives him structure. God knows he runs amok without it.” Oswald puts his phone away, and shortly after Jim's pocket vibrates and he checks the short message,  _ heard ur here _ , and shakes his head. “Please do this for me. I can't have him hovering at my booth all afternoon. His resting face is very intimidating.”

“I'll get him to go on rides with me. He likes adrenaline.” They step into the slightly cooler business building and Jim starts scanning the crowd. “Maybe I should see if anyone's hiring.”

“Don't tell me  _ you're  _ thinking of dropping out.”

“No, but I need to figure out something now that track won't work out.”

Oswald wats a few beats before asking, “they're not keeping you for shot put?”

“I was never that good at it,” he says. “I just have kinesiology now, since, you know, track. Felt like a good major at the time.”

“Well, what does your major usually turn into, job wise?”

“Physical therapy,” he says with a grimace, “but I've had enough of that for one lifetime.” He waves Oswald off just outside his booth’s perimeter. “I'll do some brainstorming. Maybe one of the booths in Ed's building will give me inspiration.”

“Well, good luck,” Oswald says.

“You too.” Jim winks as Oswald turns to go, and watches the angry little pout until someone walks up to Oswald and he has to turn on his charm.

Jim bypasses the rest of the business building’s booths and exits the building at the entrance closest to the education building. The first dozen or so booths are college application booths, but back in a corner designated the ‘kids' corner’ he finds Ed and Victor sitting behind a table with a large plastic volcano in the center, plus several different cleaning supplies and bulk supplies of baking soda and vinegar. In the back corner by a pair of chairs and a mop is Jonathan, wearing the same deep blue team shirt as Ed and Victor (Ed with a long sleeved undershirt and Victor without), but he’s using a pair of headphones to listen to something on his phone and does not acknowledge Jim's approach.

As he gets closer he can see how harried and stressed the two of them are. Ed tries to return Jim’s smile but it’s more a grimace, and Victor doesn’t even try. “Rough day?”

“Sort of,” Ed whispers. “Someone from the other lab section was supposed to relieve us for lunch an hour ago, but now our shift is nearly done.”

“If the next group even shows,” Victor adds.

“Yeesh,” Jim sucks in a breath. “You don’t have their number or anything?”

“No,” Ed sighs. “Could you get us something?”

“I can, but why don’t I cover for you guys,” Jim offers, though he’s discouraged when Ed and Victor boggle at him he reiterates his offer. “No offense, but you two look like hell. Let me run whatever experiment you’re doing here until you can get some food and a break from people.”

“We're at a fair,” Victor says. “Not really a place to get a break, unless you count the kid's strategy,” he gestures at Jonathan over his shoulder, “but I think there's nitrogen ice cream this year, so I guess you can make a mess with some five year olds if you want.”

Despite not having shown any indication that he's listening Jonathan hops up right as Victor gets up from the table. “So I guess he's not here to help,” Jim mutters.

“Nope,” Victor calls over his shoulder. He waits for Jonathan to fall in step with him before tugging at his headphones, and the two start talking as they leave the kid's area.

“It been busy?” Jim asks Ed.

“No,” Ed chuckles. “It's sort of a flop. There's a group from the Lego robotics team across the hall.” He smiles down at the volcano and fiddles with the corner of the instruction sheet. “Victor and I just wanted the extra credit in case the rumors about our professor's grading system is as harsh as they say.”

“Will it be okay that I'm taking over?”

Ed chews on the corner of his lip. “I'll get something and come right back. I'm not too hungry.” He stands, hesitates, and then pulls off his tee shirt, leaving him in his rugby shirt. “Here. The professor is tenured, and I'm convinced he may not remember what his students look like.”

“Okay,” Jim laughs. He pulls the shirt on over his tank top, and it isn't exactly tight but it's more form fitting than it had been on Ed. “Am I convincing enough now?”

“I think so,” Ed says. He plucks a bit of fluff off Jim's shoulder. “Just follow the instructions, and even though it's not toxic I wouldn't let any kids eat the lava. They'll probably throw up.”

“Yeah, okay. Go get some food,” Jim ushers Ed out of the area and walks back over to the table. He uses the back of the chair to sit comfortably with his bad leg straight out in front of him.

Jim watches the steady trickle of kids too old to be enthused by a baking soda and vinegar volcano as they mill about just outside the kids' zone. A few of them are glancing over and he sends a friendly nod their way, but no one comes closer.

But after Ed’s been gone for about ten minutes a single young boy, around four or five, comes barreling into the area alone; his shirt has a little built on cape that flutters behind him until he screeches to a halt right by the table.

“Hi,” Jim says, startled and looking beyond the boy to the hallway. “Are you all alone?”

The boy looks at Jim, eyes widening, and he turns around in fast circles, whimpering out, “where’s my dad?”

“I-” he clamps his mouth shut and smiles big and fake. “You know, I bet he’s right behind you. Here, want to do this with me?” He points to the volcano. “You can even help.”

He makes a big show of getting everything ready (“better wear these goggles to be safe”) and lets the boy pour the premeasured baking soda into the mouth of the volcano. At some point a man not much older than Jim skitters to a stop and settles when he sees Jim bearing most of the weight from a jug of red-dyed vinegar but letting the boy think he’s helping as they pour in a cup or so into the volcano.

“Good job!” Jim laughs when the boy squeals as red ‘lava’ starts flowing out of the volcano. “Hey, I think someone found you.”

The boy whirls around and shrieks, “dad!” and barrels over to him. “We made a volcano!”

“Yeah?” he laughs with relief and plucks the goggles off the boy’s head. He mouths to Jim, “thanks man,” and picks up the boy with one arm while gently lobbing the goggles Jim’s way. As he walks away Jim hears him tell the boy, “Dick what did I tell you about running off? I’m going to have to put you on a leash until your mom's act is done.”

Jim handles the child-sized goggles and smiles to himself. When he sees Ed approaching with a funnel cake in hand he pulls out his phone and sends a confirmation text to Zsasz,  _ meet by rides _ , followed by a slightly longer one to Oswald,  _ I think my future includes children, talk more later. _


	9. Everyone contributes something even if they can't see it

Ed frowns down at Jim's laptop screen from his place comfortably snuggled up against his side. He watches Jim scroll through courses and education tracks and compare them to his current transcript. He whispers, “I think you're missing a few requirements.”

“Nope,” Jim reaches up a hand to play with Ed's hair. “Or, sort of. I need to finish up kinesiology and then I can start a preparation program. It's just how it goes.”

“And student teaching.”

“And that,” he agrees. “Might tough it out and get a certification or two on top of it. Health maybe. Our old health teacher was pretty awful.”

“I agree,” Oswald shouts from the kitchen. He starts walking closer with a tray of mugs in hand, plus a tablet with a dark purple case. “It's why I got my mother to not sign the permission form.”

“Get nothing,” Jim says as a mug appears to his right, and he takes it. “Thanks. Your mom wouldn't have survived knowing her precious baby knew about sex.”

“As if I didn't already know,” Oswald grumbles. He leans against Jim's free side and blows on his tea. “How long until you're an actual teacher?”

“Three years, I think. Glad my major already works for it.” He opens up his email and starts composing a message for his advisor. “She's going to be so happy I finally have a career path in mind. I think I was giving her an ulcer.”

Oswald scoffs. “I'm sure she has enough freshmen giving her those. You at least had a major declared your first year.”

“I don’t think that’s required,” Ed says. He reaches out a hand until Oswald fills it with a cup of tea, and he sits up to drink it properly. “Being undeclared is an option. I considered it briefly.”

“I know, but since I didn’t know what I was doing with my major I bet it felt the same,” Jim says. He takes a drink, then exclaims while his mouth is still full and sets it aside so he can tack at some keys and bring up a different tab, this one about the graduate program. “Ed, my advisor said they’re changing something about grad school applications, so you should look at this before you apply.”

“Oh,” Ed frowns at the screen, “I um, I wasn’t sure if I was going to apply.”

“Really?” Jim boggles at him.

“What do you want to do with your degree?” Oswald asks lightly, though he’s set down his mug and eyeing Ed from behind Jim’s shoulders.

“Well,” Ed sets his mug aside so he can wring his hands together, “medical school leads to some rather lucrative opportunities. I've been doing some research, and while there's nothing in Gotham there are world renowned facilities in this state.”

Oswald's eyebrows go up with alarm, and he and Jim share a confused look before Jim tugs Ed closer until he's nearly on his lap with his long legs stretched out over both his and Oswald's thighs. “You want to be a doctor?” Jim asks. He rubs Ed's arm when he curls up and shrugs. “I mean, you're definitely smart enough.”

“There's no question about that,” Oswald reiterates. He tips Ed's chin up with one finger. “I think Jim and I are just a bit surprised.”

“You think it's a bad idea,” he mumbles, letting his head drop onto Jim's shoulder with defeat.

“No,” Oswald coos, lifting Ed's head up again and petting his cheeks with his thumbs. “It just doesn't sound like you.”

“I don't sound like a doctor?”

“You don't sound like someone that would enjoy that job,” Jim says. Ed just looks more lost. “There's,” he pauses and looks to Oswald for help, “there's parts that you would hate, I think.”

“People like to blame something when things go wrong, and they'd blame you because you're in close proximity, even when you aren't at fault,” Oswald rushes out. He pets away more of the worry lines on Ed's face. “It’s the people side, Ed. We don't think you'd like it. You'd be  _ wonderful _ at helping people regain their health but talking to them isn't your strong suit.”

“Why would they blame me?” he squeaks out. “I'm- it just feels like you don't have confidence in me.”

“Ed, you would be brilliant,” Oswald assures him, “but you'd still catch the occasional hell because that's what people do,” he says. “They need to blame something when things are falling apart.”

“And they get sued a lot. My mom gets enough shit at work being a nurse.” Jim pulls Ed so he's fully on his lap and wraps both arms around Ed's middle; Ed rests his chin on Jim's shoulder, reaching one gangly arm over his back so he can latch onto Oswald. “We want you to like your job, that's all. If you want to do it we'll support you, but don't be a doctor because they make a lot of money. That's what Oswald is for.”

“Hey,” Oswald admonishes him with a swat to the leg. “But he's right, Ed. Earning a lot of money is a  _ terrible _ motivation.”

“I'm not sure what to do, then,” Ed admits, quiet enough that only Jim seems to hear. His arms tighten around Ed for a few pulses before he starts rubbing circles into his back.

“I bet Fries would be better help than us,” Jim says. “He's doing grad school, I think.”

“And he's also in a similar major to yours,” Oswald adds.

“Chemistry isn't that close-”

“Ed, it's a science,” Oswald shushes him gently. “It’s better than nothing. Just, please, talk to someone. Fries, your therapist, hell go take a poll on central campus if you need to, but don't just go into medical school because you want to make a lot of money. We're going to effectively have three incomes for one household. We'll manage if one of us wants to be a house husband.”

Ed's cheeks pink up and he hides against Jim's shoulder. “Okay.”

“Hey, you yelled at me when you thought I suggested that,” Jim teases Oswald.

“I,” Oswald sputters, “I was overheating! It's not my fault you told me 'I think my future involves children’ and I misinterpreted!”

“You could have been more specific,” Ed agrees, sounding droopy and tired while Jim keeps rubbing his back.

“It's more fun to see him freak out.” Jim says lightly, smirking at Oswald when he squawks. “Don't sweat grad school too much, okay? You could always take a gap year. You talked about wanting volunteer for that puzzle league you like to go to with Fries and his tagalong.”

“It's time consuming,” Ed laments.

“Yeah, but you love it,” Jim says. He lifts Ed up enough to deposit him more or less on top of Oswald, chuckling down at their confused pile when he stands. “Gotta go do my knee workout with Zsasz. Figured you weren't planning on going anywhere.”

“I suppose I don't have much of a choice now,” Oswald mutters, but he also helps Ed resituate into a more comfortable position with his head on Oswald's lap. He shoos Jim out of the room with one hand while the other plays with Ed's hair. “Go pester Zsasz for a little while. I need to finish our budget without the two of you demanding edits.”

“I'll just do it when you're asleep,” Jim says. He grabs his gym bag from its place near their front door and slings it over one shoulder. “Don’t work too hard.”

“Does it  _ look _ like I'm working hard?” Oswald snits, and when Jim winks he sticks out his tongue. “Go to the gym! Leave us in peace.”

“Later,” Jim says, and this time he actually leaves.

Oswald shakes his head and grabs his tablet from the tray before settling into the back of the couch. Ed squirms against him, and Oswald sets his tablet on the arm so he can look down at his face. He runs his fingers over the worry lines on Ed's forehead and by his eyes. “Are you alright?”

Ed nods and shoves his face into Oswald's stomach. Oswald pets his hair for a few more seconds, but when he doesn't emerge he lets him stay hidden and moves on to working on his tablet.

-

Ed tugs at the strap of his messenger bag and pushes open the door to the cafe near student services. He scans the front cluster of tables, but when Victor shoots his hand up in the air from the back corner table Ed’s gaze snaps over to him. He slips past the line of students waiting to place their orders and claims the only other seat at Victor’s table, slipping his bag off to set it on the floor as he sits.

“I hear you wanted advice,” Victor says.

Ed blinks a few times, and then he folds his hands together and rests them on the edge of the table. “I was expecting you to want to start with some sort of small talk.”

“Nah,” Victor waves him off. “I have a lab in an hour. And Nora’s shift gets done in about,” he tilts his phone up to read the screen, “ten minutes. So I don’t really have a lot of time to chat.”

“Oh,” Ed fidgets and turns towards the counter, and he smiles at Nora when she gives him a small wave before returning to her orders. “I wasn’t aware Nora worked in the cafe.”

“Just some odd hours here and there. Helps keep student loans from getting out of hand.” Ed nods along to Victor’s sage advice. Victor sucks down a drink of his iced coffee and leans back until he can rest one foot on the leg of the table. “So you’re thinking of med school.”

“Oswald and Jim don’t think it’s such a good idea,” Ed sighs.

“It feels like a bad fit.”

Ed groans and shoves his glasses up so he can rub at his eyes with his fingers. “Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Because you’re you,” Victor says matter-of-factly. Ed drops his hands into his lap and looks at Victor, face a mix of confusion and mild distress. “If it makes you feel better my parents kept pushing for med school. I didn’t think I’d like it either.”

“I don't know why that should make me feel better.”

“We're a lot alike,” Victor says. Ed chews on the corner of his lip before reluctantly nodding. “Why'd you want to be a doctor anyway?”

Ed shrugs one shoulder. “It's lucrative. It's still a science. You help by solving a mystery.”

Victor takes out his phone and types something with his thumbs. Ed waits patiently, and blinks with surprise when Victor turns it towards him. “That's just for medical school.”

“Oh,” he scrolls down on the article of Victor's phone. “That’s-”

“And I don't know about you, but I haven't heard about them throwing around free rides like the one you got for here.”

Ed visibly droops in his chair until he's resting his head in his hands, propped up only because his elbows are on the table. “Your argument is a lot more convincing than theirs.”

“Sorry,” he deadpans. Ed shakes his head. “People make for shitty mysteries. They're predictable, or they lie to you and you get it wrong because of it.”

“You already successfully convinced me against the idea,” Ed sighs. “People don't like being thought of as puzzles, do they.”

“Not really.”

“But they  _ are _ ,” he insists. “I don't understand people. I,” he gestures helplessly with one hand and shifts his head to rest solely on the other, “I don't know. I don't know how Oswald does it. He just  _ knows _ .”

“He has some talent.”

“And he's so good with money,” Ed whispers. “In high school I, well,” he trails off, “I'm good at stretching a thin budget, but it's not just that. He can just  _ look  _ at an investment and just,” Ed scoffs, “he knows how people think, what they'll buy. I could never do that.” He holds onto his elbows and sits back in his chair. Victor tips his head a little, waiting for Ed to continue when he's ready. “And then Jim will just swoop in and, and he knows what to say to get Oswald and me to just drop everything and relax for a little. To have fun. I thought,” he huffs, “I thought I could at least earn a decent amount of money. To contribute something useful.”

Victor regards Ed with a lazy curiosity and slowly tips his head to the side until it contacts his hand. “I heard you're a good cook.”

Ed barks out a laugh, harsh and a bit deprecating. “I'm the one that cares about that. They would be just fine without fancy meals.” He crosses his arms and rests his head on the table. His real meaning hangs in the air between them, and Victor chews on the inside of his cheek while Ed sulks.

“You'd quit college in a heartbeat if Oswald asked you to get a job.”

Ed's head pops up and he frowns. “I think I'd make a compelling argument about how they currently pay for most of my expenses.”

“Yeah,” Victor nods, “but if he was persuasive you'd do it.” Ed scrunches down in his seat, shrugging. “You'd bend over backwards to give them whatever they want, whenever they want.”

“I’m not sure this is as encouraging as you must have imagined it being.”

“It makes them be better people,” he explains, “because otherwise it would be real easy to take advantage of you. But they don’t do that, right?” Ed shakes his head, and Victor nods. “And I bet if you stopped cooking they’d miss it.”

“Thank you,” Ed says, ducking his head to hide his smile.

“You’re probably a better boyfriend than me,” he says casually, and Ed sputters. “I mean it. Best I’m good for is not giving Nora an allergic reaction.”

“What are you telling him now?” Nora sighs as she approaches the table. She’s still in her work clothes, but she’s taken her hair out of the ponytail she had earlier.

“That you aren’t allergic to me,” he says.

Nora sighs again, but she also smiles. She tells Ed, “that’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“He wanted to talk about grad school,” Victor says. Nora nods to him briefly, then turns around to politely request to use one of the unused chairs from the next table over. She pulls it over to sit by Victor when they agree. “But now you’re here so we can move on from that.”

“Are you going to grad school?” Nora asks Ed. Victor groans loudly, but he peters out when his head lands on her shoulder and she starts messing with his hair.

“I don’t really know,” Ed says. “How did you decide?”

Victor shrugs one shoulder. “Professor I actually talk to is starting up a cryogenics project. Just can’t bomb my GRE and I’m in.”

“Something you’re very interested in just fell into your lap?”

“I got lucky,” Victor says. “But you could get lucky too.”

“I hope so.” Ed flashes them both the briefest of smiles and stands. “I should get going. Educational epiphanies don’t just-” he laughs- “well, maybe they  _ do  _ spawn themselves, but I doubt I’ll have it here.”

-

Oswald and Jim pour over a printout Ed’s thrust into both their hands. They stand huddled close together so they can both read it, and Ed watches them, fretting with his bottom lip while they skim the short description from the college website.

“So it’s,” Oswald grimaces as he searches for the word, “what is it, exactly?”

“Independent study,” Ed says. “Technically, I suppose I could tie it to any number of preexisting programs-”

“Does this say puzzles?” Jim interrupts.

“Yes,” Ed says after some hesitation. “See, there’s a psychology to them, but also logic, and, well, that’s my point. Puzzles, logic based puzzles specifically, is my focal point. Or, I’d like it to be my focal point. I need to get some professors on board still-”

“Are you making this up?” Oswald asks, incredulous. “Because it’s clever, Ed, really, but I’m not sure-”

“It’s been done before,” Ed blurts out. “Once, I think, but still. There’s a precedent.”

“It sounds like you,” Jim sighs. “It really does, Ed. More than medical school did by a long shot.”

“I suppose crosswords don’t write themselves,” Oswald mutters to himself. To Ed he says, “We’ll support you. And I can’t imagine the school will be upset about you wanting to stay.”

“I think I’d like that,” Ed says, “to stay, I mean. In academia. I’ve grown fond of the forensics department.”

“But you won’t do forensics as a master’s program?” Oswald whines. “I don’t get it,” he shakes his head, “but I guess if this is what you want-”

“We’re happy you figured it out,” Jim interjects. Ed perks up a bit and nods. “You’ll probably need to write some sort of pitch to get them to agree to this.”

“I was hoping you’d both be willing to listen?” Ed hints, Jim nods, and Oswald does too after being elbowed in the side. “Thank you. It’s,” he laughs, “I know it’s strange, but I feel good about this.”


	10. He's finally getting to flex his finance finesse

Oswald pulls Jim’s beat up truck into the driveway of the Zsasz mansion and parks behind Zsasz’s SUV. He eyes the movers bringing box after box of Zsasz’s things as he walks through the open front door and dodges a man handling an awkwardly tall lamp with an artistic series of baubles in the middle of the stem. Zsasz smiles at him from the dining table and waves him over. Oswald smiles without mirth, but he crosses the box filled room and claims the only other chair still not packed away in the moving truck.

“I’m rather shocked you finally decided to sell this old place.”

“Feels too empty,” Zsasz says, and Oswald nods knowingly. “And it’s way too far away from the college. Nobody wants to drive all the way to the outskirts of the city to party.”

“Yes, because that’s definitely a primary concern,” Oswald says with sarcasm, but Zsasz nods with genuine agreement. “Well, as long as you’re happy, I suppose.”

Zsasz shrugs. “My new place still has a lot of space.”

“Not when you cram in as many roommates as you’re putting in there,” Oswald says, “but, again, it’s not my place to speak ill will of your new living arrangement.”

“You sure do like to do it though,” Zsasz teases, and Oswald scowls at him. “But Ozzie, my guy, I’m glad you came out here. I got a few things I’m still trying to transition and you’ve got some good ideas in that head of yours. Figured I’d run some of them by you and see what you think.”

Oswald glances out at the room as another set of movers grabs a stack of boxes and carries them out to the truck. “Do we really need to do this here? Can’t we go to a coffee shop?”

Zsasz screws up his face in thought and stands. “See, this is why I wanted to bring you in on this. You always have good ideas.”

“Thank goodness,” Oswald says under his breath. He moves to get back into Jim’s truck, but Zsasz waves him over and, completely shocking Oswald, offers up the keys to the SUV. Oswald marvels at them but also snatches them away greedily, and he’s already done adjusting the seat controls and changing Zsasz’s music stations before Zsasz is even buckled into the passenger seat.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me drive.”

“I’m not going to get yelled at if it gets wrecked.” Oswald stills and looks over to Zsasz, who shrugs, and he sits back, all his enthusiasm melting out of him. “Don’t give me that face, man. It’s cool. I’m cool. I thought you’d like to drive it since you’re always drooling over the damn thing.”

“Well, thank you,” Oswald says. He takes a few extra seconds to check the turn signals and a few other emergency lights and alerts before slowly pulling out of the driveway and onto the street.

“You don’t have to drive like my grandma.”

“Well, you soured the experience and now I’m stressed about wrecking your car,” he snits.

“Once the mansion’s sold I could buy at least  _ four  _ of them. Don’t sweat it. I’ve been thinking of trading it in for the newer version anyway.”

“I suppose,” Oswald sighs, and he starts driving closer to the speed limit. “There’s a new place near the art museum I’ve been eyeing for some time now.”

Zsasz waves Oswald on, and after about ten minutes of casual conversation they’ve reached the cafe. Oswald claims one of the few spots in their tiny parking lot and they both make their way into the small shop. There’s a modest line at the cash register, and while Oswald claims a small table in the corner next to the fireplace Zsasz stands in line to get them both a drink.

Oswald reaches out his grabby hands when Zsasz nears him, and he accepts his frappuccino and takes a few drinks of his sweet caffeinated beverage.

“Thank you,” Oswald gushes. “For this and for letting me drive. Jim’s truck is still our only car, and it’s  _ atrocious _ . I’d have pushed harder for a replacement if it wasn’t so damned reliable.”

“You guys don’t go anywhere outside the city anyway.”

“Well maybe we would if we had a better car,” Oswald counters. He leans back in his chair a bit and rests one arm on the nearby window sill. “As much as I do enjoy your,” he pauses, “unique company-”

“Gee thanks.”

“I do have some things I need to do at the apartment. I’d love to spend some of my leisure time with you later but today I don’t have that much to spare.”

“Sure, okay,” Zsasz leans forward and pulls a checkbook and another small notebook out of his back pocket. He tosses them onto the table and Oswald slides them closer with two fingers. “So my family’s always had an accountant but I don’t really know the guy. He was some guy that went to the same fraternity as my dad back in the day. I’m not saying he’s not doing a good job or anything, but since you’re good at things that have to do with money and everything I thought I’d have you take a look at a few things to see if they’re kosher.”

“What’s that?” Oswald blinks. “You do know I don’t have an accountant degree, or any sort of degree whatsoever, right?”

“Yeah, but you won’t bullshit me about anything.”

“I feel like you’re not really seeing my point,” he trails off when he opens up the small notebook detailing the Zsasz family investments and assets, mouth falling open with surprise as he gets a very intimate look at just how much money Zsasz has to his name, which is quite a lot. “Please don’t tell me if this isn’t everything.”

“Should be,” Zsasz says. “Why?”

“This,” Oswald barks out a laugh, “Victor do you realize just how well off you are?” Zsasz blinks a few times, and shrugs. “You,” Oswald slaps the notebook down onto the table and holds open one of the pages, “you could live off the  _ interest _ from these accounts for  _ decades _ . You  _ genuinely _ do not have to work a day in your life.”

Zsasz nods a few times and takes the book back so he can turn a few of the pages. “Seems like a good deal.”

“Seems like,” Oswald grumbles. “Yeah, Victor, it's a  _ good deal. _ You're absolutely  _ loaded _ .”

“So you're saying it looks alright.”

“I,” Oswald sighs, “I don't know, Victor. I'd have to look at more than this to be sure. You're having a realtor sell the mansion, right?”

“Yep.”

“And your father trusted this accountant. I'd hope he's someone you can trust as well.” Oswald flips open the checkbook ledger and lets it fall shut after he sees a few too many zeroes to handle. “I appreciate the little ego boost you've given me but unless you start hemorrhaging money I'd say just let your accountant handle these accounts.”

Zsasz takes the checkbook and slips it back into his pocket along with the notebook. He sits back and takes a few tentative dips of his iced coffee, and then he gestures to Oswald with it. “So what if I said my dad was the one that made his own investment decisions?”

Oswald hums and crosses his arms. “I imagine your accountant could maintain those for you as well. Hell, ask him to find you more to increase your portfolio.”

“Yeah, but he's all about  _ safe investments _ and they're  _ boring _ , Ozzie.” Zsasz droops until his arms are stretched across the entire table. “What's wrong with investing in weird stuff? People like weird stuff.”

“Well, he's probably worried about the loss-” Of stops himself, smiling mirthlessly and sighing. “And you don't care about the loss all that much.”

“Because I'm loaded,” Victor snaps his fingers, ending with double finger guns pointing at Oswald.

“Because you're  _ very  _ loaded,” Oswald reiterates. “I’ll send anything interesting I hear about your way.”

Zsasz nods. “That’s cool, that's cool, but I was thinking of something a little bit more involved on your end.”

“I'm not starting a company with you.”

“Woah, who said a  _ company _ ?” Zsasz laughs. “I know you read finance magazines for fun or whatever-”

“I really  _ don't _ -”

“-but I want to  _ pay  _ you,” Zsasz finishes. Oswald's mouth drops open. “The accountant's going to want to get paid if he does it and that guy doesn't know what fun is, so if I gotta pay someone anyway it might as well be you.”

Oswald shakes his head, not as a no, but to clear the dumbfounded expression off his face. It's moderately successful. “You want me to be your investment hound.”

“I figure if I'm making more money because of stuff you told me then you should make more too.”

Oswald huffs. “Victor, if you want to spend more time together we can  _ do  _ that. I know I've been busy, but you don't have to pay me to get me to make time for you.”

Zsasz brushes him off with a wave of his hand and a casual, “the only reason you're not getting paid to do this already is a dumb piece of paper.”

“That dumb piece of paper is all anyone seems to care about,” Oswald mutters. “Let me think about it, okay? This is,” he laughs, “it's a lot to consider. You have a  _ lot _ of money, and I'd hate to be the reason that changes.”

-

Oswald walks into his apartment and drops his coat on the floor near the shoe rack, toes off his nice loafers without untying them, and makes it as far as the couch Ed is currently occupying before flopping forward to not so gently land on top of Ed in a droopy, exhausted heap. Ed grunts when Oswald's weight settles on top of him, but after a few readjustments he settles with his book across Oswald's shoulder blades and continues reading.

“I had an  _ exhausting _ day,” he moans, voice muffled by Ed's shoulder.

Ed keeps one spidery finger in his book to keep his place and uses his free hand to pet Oswald's hair. “I came to that conclusion. You usually treat your clothes nicer.” He stops fussing with his hair long enough to properly bookmark his place and set his book aside. “I had an appointment today.”

“Ah, that's right,” Oswald lifts his head enough to rest his chin on Ed's sternum. “How was it?”

“Fine, good,” Ed says. “Tiring. I don't get why it's so tiring.”

“Maybe you could ask,” Oswald suggests.

“Maybe.” He wraps both arms around Oswald's shoulders. “Why exhausting?”

“Me? Oh, you know how Zsasz can be.” Ed looks more tired just thinking about it. “I have something I'd like to run by you, actually.”

“What are you running by Ed?” Jim half shouts as he emerges from the back hall leading to their bedroom. He's in the middle of brushing his teeth, hair still wet from his shower and a towel on one bare shoulder.

Oswald sticks out his tongue. “I don't remember saying I needed  _ your  _ input Jim.” His eyes trail over Jim's bare chest and he sighs, faux put out. “I suppose you can stay.”

“Let me spit,” he says around a mouthful of toothpaste foam. He walks over to their kitchen and spits into the empty sink, and the second he turns around he finds Oswald staring at him in shock. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?” Oswald gestures to the sink helplessly.

Jim sighs and walks back to the sink. He maintains eye contact with Oswald the entire time he rinses his spit down the drain, both deadly serious until Jim breaks first. He sputters and laughs, and Oswald rolls his eyes fondly.

“You better not compare me to your mother,” Oswald snits.

Jim lowers himself onto the floor in front of the couch with his bad leg stretched out along its length. “Oh, you’re way past even my mom’s standards,” he says casually. Oswald gasps. “So what’s up?”

“Well,” Oswald hums, “I got a, let’s call it an offer. I got a strange offer from Zsasz today related to his money, and an odd desire of his to have me handle some of it for him.”

“You handle all our money now,” Jim says.

“Don’t say that as if our measly funds is in any way comparable to the Zsasz estate, which is vast and, now don’t you repeat this to  _ anyone _ , a little intimidating.”

“He’s not asking you to take over all of it though, right?” Ed asks.

“No, of course not, he’s not  _ that _ big an idiot.” Oswald drops his head onto Ed’s chest and clams up a bit until Jim notices his little pout and starts petting his hair the way Ed was earlier. “I know he’s not used to people telling him no but I think he’ll have to learn.”

“You really don’t think you can do,” Jim trails off, “what does he want exactly?”

“He’s  _ bored _ , that’s the real issue at hand.” Oswald sighs. “He’s bored, and he wants to do something interesting, and somehow he’s gotten the idea that an interesting investment will help alleviate some of his boredom.”

“I thought you liked investing,” Ed says.

“I do,” Oswald agrees, “but there’s a difference between what little I’ve set up with yours and Jim’s savings and Zsasz’s liquid assets. He could start a brand new company single-handedly. I’ve never handled that much money before.” Oswald wriggles around in Ed’s arms until he can sit up properly between Ed’s bent legs. He runs a finger over the knee of Ed’s sweatpants, fussing with a loose seam without making it worse. Ed and Jim both give him a minute to collect his thoughts, content to stay where they are and exchange a few knowing glances.

“He’s your friend,” Jim says. “Ours two, but you’re the one that helped the most after his parents died. Maybe he wants to thank you.”

“This does feel like a very Zsasz way to do so,” Ed agrees. “And it’s something you like.”

“He already lost them,” Oswald says. “I don’t want to make him lose anything else.”

Ed blinks. “You,” he hazards, “you don’t want him to lose his money?”

“I,” Oswald smiles at Ed, “no, Ed. I don’t want him to hate me because I couldn’t do what he asked.”

“Oh,” he nods, “that, right, that makes sense.”

“Okay, but Ozzie,” Jim starts, but he also tries to push himself up onto the couch, and the effort of getting his leg on board makes him grunt with frustration. “Fuck, stupid,” he grumbles, and then he drops onto the couch, irritated but also triumphant. He gathers Oswald into his arms. “Even if you fail in the worst, most spectacular way there’s no way you’re going to make him hate you, or make him poor.”

“Oh, a thought,” Ed exclaims. He sits up and joins the huddle on the other half of the couch. “Suggest he let you start with small investments. Local shops, or maybe a scholarship in his parents’ names.”

Oswald huffs. “You know, I spent the entire drive back home preparing the talk I was going to have when I turned him down.” He tosses up his hands. “Fine, alright, the two of you are horrible enablers, and when this doesn’t work out I’m throwing both of you under the bus.”

-

“Victor, you’ll be happy to know,” Oswald trails off when he finds Zsasz and two of his odd roommates standing around a folding table in the backyard. One of the ladies is holding a tube of cardboard and some fuses, and the other is helping Zsasz combine some unlabeled powders in a small bowl. All three are wearing safety goggles, and Oswald takes a couple steps back. “What are you doing?”

“Ozzie,” he gestures to Oswald, “a couple of my roommates and I, Tawny,” he points to the woman helping him mix, “and Gang,” and then the one currently using an exacto knife on the cardboard, “thought up a fun side project to do. Might turn lucrative, might not.” He shrugs.

“Should I be wearing goggles?”

“Not until we light it,” Zsasz says. Oswald takes one more step back. “Let’s go inside.”

He takes another cautious look at the strange project, and then Oswald scurries after Zsasz into the relative safety of his kitchen. There’s a couple more of his roommates in the living room currently playing some sort of war game, so Zsasz gestures for Oswald to follow him into the finished basement, which is currently unoccupied.

“Should I be worried?” Oswald asks. “Are you making pipe bombs or something?”

“Naw,” Zsasz waves him off. “Tawny’s in my chem class, and she  _ loves  _ fireworks-”

“You’re making  _ fireworks _ !?” Oswald squawks.

“We’re  _ designing _ fireworks, Ozzie, chill.” Zsasz pushes his goggles on to his forehead. “We did a bunch of research already, everyone’s wearing goggles,  _ and  _ we’re not going to fire them off in town.”

“I should  _ hope  _ not.” Oswald sighs. “I suppose this is could be an interesting little side project for the three of you.”

“Ah ah, the  _ four  _ of us.”

“Excuse me?”

“ _ This  _ is the kind of investment I want to have,” Zsasz explains, “so I figured you could be our money man. Maybe help figure out how we turn this into more than just a backyard business.”

Oswald blinks. “You want to invest in  _ yourself _ ?”

“And I want  _ you  _ to help us with the boring parts.” (“Oh I’m so  _ flattered _ , Victor.”) “So what do you say Ozzie?”

“I,” he laughs, “I can’t believe I’m still standing here after you already told me your idea.” He shrugs. “Fine, why not?” And Zsasz pulls him into a hug so intense Oswald’s feet aren’t touching the ground anymore. “Stop that! Put me down! I said I’d manage your  _ money _ it’s not that big a deal!”


	11. Get out get out

The roads are busy the closer Victor drives to the highschool, and he grumbles as he gets cut off and misses a green light. He sighs with frustration and squeezes his steering wheel tight, making the leather squeak as his hands move. When his phone lights up with a call from Nora he accepts it before his car can even alert him to the call, and her voice replaces the steady thrum of his music as his bluetooth takes over.

“Kill me.”

“So you’re not there yet,” Nora says.

“Traffic is God awful. Why did I agree to do this?”

“Because Jonathan is graduating,” she reminds him, and he grumbles. “Because you told him ages ago that you’d make sure to be there.”

“I tell people a lot of things.”

“Because you like him,” she says softly, “and he’s been more withdrawn lately.”

Victor fiddles with his phone at the next stop, bringing up the thread of messages he’s exchanged with Jonathan over the last few months. The most recent message is dated nearly three weeks ago. “He’s been radio silent. He hasn’t texted you, right?”

“No,” she says, “but he hardly does that anyway.”

They’re both silent for a bit and Victor takes the opportunity to turn into an alley leading to the auxiliary lot for the high school. It’s about half full, so he takes his time finding a spot near the back doors where he used to sit during lunch. When he’s parked he leaves his car on and continues to talk with Nora. “He hasn’t come by the apartment, either.”

“Maybe he’s been busy,” she says, but she doesn’t sound very convinced. “You don’t think anything’s wrong, do you?”

“Don’t know,” he says. Whatever he was about to say turns into a quiet little exclamation as he catches sight of Jonathan as he leans against the school wall near the back doors, already wearing a graduation gown but he's left the zipper undone. Underneath he's wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a plain black tee shirt. His hat is leaning against the wall by his feet. Something’s hanging out of his mouth that looks an awful lot like a cigarette, but there’s no smoke. “Well, he’s not dead at least.”

“You found him?”

“I’m going to go harass him,” Victor says. “I’ll tell him you wanted to come.”

“Make sure he knows I mean it, too,” she says. “I tried to reschedule-”

“He’ll understand,” he says. “I’ll video him walking or something, then you can embarrass him later.”

“Thanks,” she says. There’s some inaudible talking from beyond her phone. “They’re ready for me.”

“Good luck.” Victor turns off his car and grabs his wallet and phone. Jonathan’s eyeing him from his place by the doors, and he doesn’t take his eyes off Victor as he approaches casually with his hands in his pockets and an easy smirk on his face. “Didn’t think you’d ever smoke.”

Jonathan pulls a colorful box of cigarettes out of his pocket and offers one to Victor, who takes it and rolls the chalky tube of glorified sugar between his fingers. “How’d you find candy cigarettes?”

“Soda shop near me has some old school candy,” he says. He pulls his candy out of his mouth and turns it over in his hands. “I think I have an oral fixation. I started getting these to try and trick my brain into thinking it’s good enough.”

“Does it work?”

“Sometimes I light the end for kicks,” he says. Jonathan sticks his candy back in his mouth and lets it waggle there as he talks. “They’re a lot cheaper than the real thing.”

“Probably better for you too,” Victor says. He foregoes normal eating methods for fake cigarettes and shoves the entire thing in his mouth, chewing loudly while Jonathan judges him silently. “Haven’t seen much of you lately.”

Jonathan shrugs and crosses his arms. “Dad’s been on a whole new level lately.”

“Oh.”

“Sometimes it’s just easier to do what he wants.” Jonathan’s face tenses, eyes stricken and weary, but he shakes it off and uses his teeth to drag a bit more of his candy into his mouth. “Just you?”

“Nora’s been trying to get an allergy panel set up for a month now. They wouldn’t reschedule.” He shrugs, a ‘what can you do’ expression, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “She wants me to record you walking, so try not to fall on your face.”

Jonathan doesn’t laugh, but he also doesn’t glare or snap at Victor. He just looks tired. “Were you valedictorian?”

“Almost,” Victor says. “Ed was.”

“They make valedictorians give speeches now,” Jonathan adds. Victor nods slowly. “I was nearly valedictorian.”

“Sounds like you dodged a bullet.”

Jonathan is quiet for a few beats. He takes the candy out of his mouth and glares down at it, then tosses it to the side and clenches his hands so hard his knuckles pop. “I failed a test.”

“Sorry.”

“I did it on purpose,” Jonathan clarifies, and Victor sucks in a breath. “I couldn’t. I can’t just go up there and-” he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the building, sucking in deep breaths until his breathing isn’t so loud. “My dad wouldn’t have let me try to get out of it, so I made sure it wasn’t an option.”

“That’s,” Victor sighs and shrugs, “that’s probably bad, you know. Self sabotage isn’t really recommended.”

“I don’t think I can take it,” he whispers, voice small and tight. “A whole summer, just me and him. He’s, during the school year we’re both busy. Now it’s,” he swallows thickly, “I can’t even pretend I’m trying to prepare for placement tests. I’m already in, so it’s just a whole summer of ‘facing my fears’ or, or whatever else he has cooked up in his pan fried  _ brain _ and-” Jonathan cuts himself off and pulls off his glasses so he can wipe his eyes. “It scares me. Thinking about it scares me, and I don’t know what to do.”

Victor tips his head to the side and asks, “aren’t you eighteen?”

“I can’t just  _ leave _ -”

“We have a spare room,” he says, elaborating, “Nora and I. We use the guest room as an office but there’s a daybed.” Jonathan can’t stop boggling at him, and Victor smiles. “If you don’t say yes now Nora’s going to end up making you do it anyway because she asks so nicely. She’s good at that.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nah,” Victor says. “It’s scary getting out. I get it. Not the same  _ it _ , but I get it.” Jonathan rubs a fist over his eyes and Victor takes a step closer. “Your name’s early in the alphabet. Just sneak out after they make you do the photo thing behind the stage and we’ll go get your stuff.”

“Why are you doing this?” He’s not ungrateful, he’s just unsure.

Victor shrugs. “Kind of wish someone would have done it for me.”

Jonathan bites his lip and blinks fast, unsuccessfully trying to keep the tears welling in his eyes from overflowing. He pushes himself off the wall and smushes his face against Victor’s shoulder, arms hanging limply by his sides even when Victor wraps around him in a proper hug.

“I know Nora’s way better at hugs than me, so just pretend it’s her doing this.” Jonathan sniffs wetly and rubs his face against Victor’s shoulder. “You better not be using me as a kleenex.”

He doesn’t sound like he cares all that much, and he lets Jonathan linger for a bit longer until his sniffling turns into some unhappy sighs and he’s squirming out of Victor’s arms. He uses the neck of his tee shirt to wipe the moisture off his face before putting his glasses back on, and he hides his casual clothes by zipping up his gown. Victor grabs Jonathan’s graduation hat for him and plops it on top of his head unevenly, and he takes a quick photo using his phone while Jonathan’s mouth is hanging open in protest while he tries to fix his hat.

“Nora’s going to frame this,” he says, and he sniggers when Jonathan gawks at the unflattering photo. “She’s proud of you.”

“Shut up,” Jonathan grumbles. His cheeks pink up and he rubs at them with his hands. “It’s just high school.”

“Yeah, but she’s still proud.” Jonathan grumbles a bit more under his breath. “Meet back here after you walk. Your dad’s a teacher, so he has to stay for the whole thing. Should give us enough time to raid your closets.”

Jonathan gives him a single curt nod, and he whispers, “thanks,” before turning around and making his way into the school to join the rest of his class.

-

The back seat and trunk of Victor’s car are both packed tight, filled to the brim with Jonathan’s things. He’s slouched low in the passenger seat messing with his phone; Victor moves a bag of clothes around a bit more before slamming the trunk closed and joining Jonathan in the front. Once Victor’s pulled out of the driveway of the Crane house and onto the street proper he calls Nora.

“I hope you’re not still doing your panel,” Victor says. Jonathan glances over and returns to his attention to his phone.

“Nope. My dad even got me back to the apartment already.” There’s a few tinks of porcelain as Nora, presumably, does something in the kitchen. “I’m making some tea for myself. Do you want any?”

“I don’t, but our house guest might.” He taps Jonathan’s hand and smirks when he looks over with a glare, dropping his phone onto his chest screen down. “Nora’s making tea. Want some?”

Jonathan shrugs. “Okay.”

“Is that Jonathan?” Nora asks brightly. Jonathan shrinks down a bit and blushes. “Victor sent me the video of your walk! I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“S’okay.”

“You can make it up to him in about ten minutes,” Victor says. “I might have offered him our guest room.”

Nora’s silent for a little bit, sounding bewildered when she does speak again. “You say that like I would have said no.”

“See, told you she’d be fine with it,” he tells Jonathan, grinning when he rolls his eyes. “He didn’t believe me when I said so.”

“I did  _ too _ ,” Jonathan snaps.

“It’s probably just through the summer,” Victor explains.

“You can stay as long as you like,” Nora offers. Jonathan mutters out a thanks through his embarrassment. “When you both get here we can start dinner.”

“See you soon,” and Victor ends the call. He looks over at Jonathan and frowns when he sees him moping. “You don't look happy.”

He shrugs. “I thought it'd feel different.”

“Yeah?” Victor turns into a parking lot for their apartment complex and starts driving to the back lot. “What's it feel like?”

“It doesn't feel like anything.”

“It sucks,” Victor counters. “It's a relief, sure, but it sucks. He's your dad.”

“He was okay before mom died.”

“That's why it sucks,” Victor says. He reaches over and squeezes Jonathan's shoulder. Jonathan doesn't lean into the touch but he doesn't push Victor off. “Let's get your stuff inside.”

-

There’s a sharp yelp from the other room and Victor’s eyes slide open halfway. He and Nora make eye contact and she glances through their open bedroom door. No one is moving about in the hall, so she sits up and Victor moves to join her.

“Guess I forgot to ask if he's still getting those,” Victor murmurs. Nora smiles sadly at him and gets up off the bed. “Do I bring anything?”

“Why don’t you get him some water,” she suggests.

“Can do.” He nearly falls over when he stands up, and he plants a sloppy, drive-by kiss on Nora’s forehead as he leaves the bedroom and walks into their small kitchen to get Jonathan a glass from the tap. When he makes it to the second bedroom Nora is already sitting on the foot of the day bed, and Jonathan is eyeing her warily. He's tense, like he's ready to sit up properly and bolt if she tries anything.

“She made me bring you water,” Victor says. He holds the glass in front of Jonathan’s face until he stops blinking with confusion and takes the glass.

“Why.”

“We just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Nora says.

He eyes the two of them over the rim of his glass as he takes a drink. “Why.”

“Okay,” Victor taps Nora’s arm so she’ll move off the bed, and Victor takes her place. “Why don’t you go make popcorn or something.” Nora nods, looking thankful, and she pats Victor on the shoulder as she leaves. Victor leans back until his back is against the wall and he pulls one leg up so he can rest his arms on his knee. “Guess you’re still having nightmares.”

Jonathan shrugs one shoulder, avoiding answering by taking another drink. “You don’t have to come check in on me.”

“She’s still going to want to unless you tell her to stop,” Victor says. Jonathan’s nose scrunches up with distaste. “She just wants to know you’re okay.”

Jonathan drags out the silence while he finishes his glass of water; Victor closes his eyes and rests with his head against the wall until Jonathan speaks up. “They aren’t new.”

“I know.” There’s a series of beeps from the other room. “Why don’t you come watch a movie with us.”

“It’s nearly two,” Jonathan says.

“So we’ll all fall back to sleep really fast,” he says nonchalantly. “Come on, the TV's in our bedroom. It’ll be like a sleepover.”

Jonathan grabs his glasses from the small side table and slips them on. “Fine, but I’ll leave if you make fun of me.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Victor chuckles, “but alright.” Jonathan stops in the doorway so suddenly Victor runs into his back. He puts a hand on Jonathan’s arm. “You okay?”

Jonathan frets about something for a few beats. “My dad called earlier.”

“Oh. What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t answer.”

“Okay,” Victor squeezes Jonathan’s shoulder, and uses it to get him to start moving again. “We’ll help you figure it out in the morning.” Jonathan nods. “Let’s go before Nora eats all the popcorn.”

-

Victor is the first one awake the next morning. He rolls over to kiss Nora's temple, and she sighs softly before burrowing deeper in the blankets. Jonathan's curled up in a tight ball at the foot of their bed, settled in the small space not occupied by Nora's feet. On his way by Victor ruffles his hair, startling him awake, but he gestures to the now open side of the bed, which Jonathan scrambles to occupy in a spread eagle sprawl on top of the covers.

He walks to the kitchen and pulls out a container of cold brew iced coffee and starts drinking directly from the mouth of the bottle. As he continues to drink his coffee Victor uses his free hand to plug his nearly dead cellphone into his charger so he can start working on the daily crossword.

Victor only gets two words filled in before there’s a wild commotion in the bedroom as Jonathan yelps, there’s a thump, followed by the startled exclamation from Nora, “are you okay!?”

He leaves his phone behind and saunters into the bedroom in time to find Jonathan on the floor, staring up at the ceiling with a look of absolute embarrassment. Nora’s peering down at him with genuine concern, but Victor’s expressing enough amusement for the two of them. Jonathan squints up at him and glares when he can see just how close Victor is to laughing at him. “Shut. Up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Victor chuckles. Jonathan sits up and fumbles to retrieve his glasses and phone from Victor’s bedside table. “You didn’t brush his leg on accident did you?” he directs his question to Nora, “because that’s actually pretty freaky-”

“Shut up,” Jonathan says again. His nose is buried in his phone.

“I uh,” Victor flounders, “okay?”

“Just,” Jonathan’s breath shudders and he tosses his phone to his right. He curls up so his elbows are on his knees and his head is in his hands. “I need a second.”

“You didn’t hit your head did you?” Nora’s crawling closer to the edge of the bed, but Jonathan shoots up from the floor and stumble-sprints to their bathroom. The sound of retching echoes down the hall as Jonathan starts throwing up. Before Victor can form words Nora slips past him to offer assistance, leaving him standing in the bedroom with his mouth hanging open.

Eventually Victor registers what’s happening and he strides over to the doorway of the bathroom. By the time he gets there Jonathan has managed to stop throwing up, but he’s still bent over the toilet as it flushes. Nora’s wetting a washcloth in the sink, and when she looks up at Victor’s reflection in the mirror she mimes drinking from a glass. Victor nods and lets Nora handle the situation in the bathroom; he hunts down Jonathan’s glass from last night and refills it in the sink.

He stands just outside the bathroom and watches Nora coax Jonathan away from the toilet bowl long enough to whisper some gentle instructions to use the cloth to wipe up his face. Jonathan covers his entire face with the washcloth and mumbles something unintelligible.

“What’d he say?” Victor asks.

Nora shakes her head. She leans in a bit closer and asks, “can you say that again?”

Jonathan slaps the washcloth down into his leg. “My dad found the note.”

“The no-oh,” Victor nods, “ _ that _ note.”

“You’re allowed to leave home,” Nora reminds him. “He can’t make you go back.”

“He’ll,” Jonathan breathes sharp and fast, far too shallow, and it takes him nearly a minute and a white knuckle grip of Nora’s hand to bring him back. “He’ll try. I know he’ll try.”

“Doesn’t mean he’ll succeed,” Victor says. Nora glances up at him, nodding, so Victor keeps talking. “You just moved out,” he says, and he moves into the bathroom and hops up on the counter between the two sinks. “He's always wanting you to face your fears, so just call it, like, fighting separation anxiety. He'll eat that up.” Jonathan bites his lower lip; he's not as confident as Victor sounds. “He never took you to an actual psychiatrist, right?” Jonathan glares up at him, still chewing up his lower lip; he looks away, cheeks reddening with embarrassment, and he shakes his head. Victor crawls down off the counter and kneels beside Nora. “So there’s nothing he can do to make you go back with him. Trust me, I looked into it.”

Jonathan pulls his legs to his chest and wraps his free arm around them. His other hand still hasn’t let go of Nora’s, but his grip has relaxed. “You don’t think I should do anything.”

“I don’t think you should  _ have  _ to,” Victor clarifies. “You left home because you wanted to. It’s not like I hogtied you after graduation and put you in my trunk.”

“And we’re glad you’re here,” Nora says, glossing over Victor’s less than comforting statements. “We’re not going to make you leave. Even if you wake us up again.”

“Or if you have to throw up more times.”

“I hate both of you,” he grumbles, dropping his face onto his knees. He still hasn’t let go of Nora’s hand.

“You don’t.” Victor pushes himself off the floor and heads for the kitchen. “I’ll get you some ginger ale for your stomach.”

He can hear Nora talking as he walks away. “We’ll stop teasing you if it really bothers you.”

Jonathan’s response is harder to hear, but his mumbly “it’s okay,” makes him smile.


End file.
